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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


POEMS   HERE  AT  HOME 


©rijcr  SSoofes  b? 


NEIGHBORLY  POEMS. 

SKETCHES    IN    PROSE    AND 
OCCASIONAL  VERSES. 

AFTERWHILES. 

PIPES    O1    PAN     (Prose    and 
Verse). 

RHYMES  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

FLYING    ISLANDS    OF    THE 
NIGHT. 

OLD-FASHIONED  ROSES 

(English    Edition). 

GREEN    FIELDS    AND    RUN 
NING  BROOKS. 


(SEE  PACE    16. 


POEMS  HERE 
AT  HOME 

BY 

JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 


PICTURES  BY  E.  W.  KEMBLE 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 
1893 


Copyright,  1893,  by 

JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY. 

All  Rights  Reserved. 

Copyright, 

87,  1888,  1889,  1890,  1891,  1892,  1893, 
by  THE  CENTURY  Co. 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS. 


PROEM 

T7ie  Poems  here  at  Home! —  Who  'II  write  'em  down, 
Jes'  as  they  air — /;/   Country  and  in  Town?  — 
Sowed  thick  as  clods  is  'crost  the  fields  and  lanes, 
Er  these- ere  little  hop-toads  when  it  rains!  — 
Who  'II  "  voice  "  'em  ?  as  I  heerd  a  feller  say 
'At  speechified  on  Freedom,  t'  other  day, 
And  soared  the  Eagle  tel,  it  'peared  to  me, 
She  was  n't  bigger  'n  a  bumble-beef 


Who  'II  sort  'em  out  and  set  'em  down,  says  I, 
'At  's  got  a  stiddy  hand  enough  to  try 
To  do  'em  jestice  'thout  a-foolin'  some, 
And  headiri  facts  off  when  they  want  to  come  ?  — 
Who  's  got  the  lovin'  eye,  and  heart,  and  brain 
To  recko'nize  'at  nothin  's  made  in  vain  — 
'At  the  Good  Bein'  made  the  bees  and  birds 
And  brutes  first  choice,  and  us-folks  afterwards? 

What  We  want,  as  I  sense  it,  in  the  line 

O'  poetry  is  somepin'  Yours  and  Mine  — 

Somepin'  with  live-stock  in  it,  and  out-doors. 

And  old  crick-bottoms,  snags,  and  sycamores  : 

Putt  weeds  in — pizenvines,  and  underbresh, 

As  well  as  johnny-jump-ups,  all  so  fresh 

And  sassy-like ! — and groun'-squir'ls, — yes,  and"  We," 

As  sayin'  is,  — "  We,    Us  and  Company!" 


Piitt  in  old  Nature's  sermonts, —  them  's  the  best, — 

And  'casion'ly  hang  up  a  hornets'  nest 

'At  boys  'at  's  run  away  from  school  can  git 

At  handy -like  —  and  let  'em  tackle  it! 

Let  us  be  wrought  on,  of  a  truth,  to  feel 

Our  proneness  fer  to  hurt  more  than  we  heal, 

In  ministratiri  to  our  vain  delights  — 

Fergittin'  even  insec's  has  their  rights! 

No  "Ladies'  Amaranth"  ner  "  Treasury"  book — 
Ner  "Night  Thoughts,"  nuther—ner  no  " Lally  Rook"\ 
We  want  some  poetry  'at  's  to  Our  taste, 
Made  out  o'  truck  'at  's  jes'  a-goin'  to  waste 
'  Cause  smart  folks  thinks  it  's  altogether  too 
Outrageous  common  —  'cept  fer  me  and  you!  — 
Which  goes  to  argy,  all  sich  poetry 
Is  'bliged  to  rest  its  hopes  on    You  and  Me. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PROEM 7 

WHEN  SHE  COMES  HOME 15 

NOTHIN'  TO  SAY 16 

THE  ABSENCE  OF  LITTLE  WESLEY        .        .        .        .18 

THE  USED-TO-BE 21 

AT  "  THE  LITERARY  " 23 

ONE  AFTERNOON 30 

DOWN  TO  THE  CAPITAL 32 

THE  POET  OF  THE  FUTURE 38 

THE  OLD  MAN  AND  JIM 40 

THOUGHTS  ON  THE  LATE  WAR 44 

THE  OLD  BAND 46 


12  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

"  LAST  CHRISTMAS  WAS  A  YEAR  AGO  "...  50 

THE  ALL-KIND  MOTHER 58 

OUR  HIRED  GIRL 60 

THE  RAGGEDY  MAN 63 

COIN'  TO  THE  FAIR 66 

GLADNESS  .  ^ 68 

FESSLER'S  BEES 72 

A  LIFE  TERM 82 

"THE  LITTLE  MAN  IN  THE  TINSHOP"  ...  84 

FROM  A  BALLOON 91 

"TRADIN"  JOE" 92 

UNCLE  WILLIAM'S  PICTURE 98 

THE  FISHING-PARTY 100 

SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY 102 

DEAD  SELVES 117 

IN  SWIMMING-TIME I2O 

SONG  OF  THE  BULLET 123 

DEAD,  MY  LORDS 124 

HOME  AGAIN  .........  125 

A  SEA-SONG  FROM  THE  SHORE 126 

A  BOY'S  MOTHER 128 

THE  RUNAWAY  BOY 130 


CONTENTS  I3 

PAGE 

THE  SPOILED  CHILD 133 

THE  KIND  OLD  MAN     .        .        .....        .  134 

THE  BOY  LIVES  ON  OUR  FARM        .       .        .       .  136 

THE  DooDLE-Bucs's  CHARM  .        .        .       .       .        .138 

LITTLE  COUSIN  JASPER       .        .        .       .       .        .  141 

GIVE  ME  THE  BABY       .        .        .        .       .       .        .  144 

THE  BEE-BAG 146 

LITTLE  MARJORIE .        .  148 

THE  TRULY  MARVELOUS    .        .....  150 

'MONGST  THE  HlLLS  O'  SOMERSET        .        .        .        -151 

OLD  JOHN  HENRY 154 

MY  FIRST  SPECTACLES .156 

SCOTTY 158 

MY  WHITE  BREAD 160 

BACK  FROM  TOWN 162 

A  MAN  BY  THE  NAME  OF  BOLUS 164 

OLD  CHUMS 167 

WHAT  A  DEAD  MAN  SAID 168 

CUORED  o'  SKEERIN 171 

YOUR  VIOLIN 173 

To  A  SKULL 175 

A  VISION  OF  SUMMER 177 


4  CONTENTS 

PAGB 

BEREAVED .        .  183 

A  SONG  OF  THE  CRUISE         .        .       .        .       .  .    184 

THE  DEAD  WIFE        .        .       .        .      '.*  '    ,       .  185 

SOMEDAY         .       .        ..       .        .        .        .  .    186 

CLOSE  THE  BOOK 187 


WHEN    SHE    COMES    HOME 

WHEN  she  comes  home  again!      A  thousand  ways 

I  fashion,  to  myself,  the  tenderness 

Of  my  glad  welcome  :    I  shall  tremble — yes  ; 

And  touch  her,  as  when  first  in  the  old  days 

I  touched  her  girlish  hand,  nor  dared  upraise 

Mine  eyes,  such  was  my  faint  heart's  sweet  distress. 

Then  silence :   and  the  perfume  of  her  dress : 

The  room  will  sway  a  little,  and  a  haze 

Cloy  eyesight — soulsight,  even — for  a  space; 

And  tears — yes ;   and  the  ache  here  in  the  throat, 

To  know  that  I  so  ill  deserve  the  place 

Her  arms  make  for  me ;   and  the  sobbing  note 

I  stay  with  kisses,  ere  the  tearful  face 

Again  is  hidden  in  the  old  embrace. 


NOTHIN'   TO   SAY 

NOTHIN'  to  say,  my  daughter  !  Nothin'  at  all  to  say ! 
Gyrls  that 's  in  love,  I  've  noticed,  giner'ly  has  their 

way  ! 
Yer  mother  did,  afore  you,  when  her  folks  objected 

to  me  — 
Yit  here  I  am  and  here  you  air!    and  yer  mother  — 

where  is  she  ? 

You   look   lots  like   yer   mother:   purty   much    same 

in  size; 
And  about  the  same  complected ;  and  favor  about  the 

eyes: 
Like  her,  too,  about  livin'  here,  because  she  could  n't 

stay; 
It  '11  'most  seem  like  you  was  dead  like  her !  —  but 

I  hain't  got  nothin'  to  say ! 

16 


NOTHIN'    TO  SAY  17 

She  left  you  her  little  Bible  —  writ   yer   name  acrost 

the  page  — 
And  left  her  ear-bobs  fer  you,  ef  ever   you  come  of 

age; 
I  've   alluz   kep'  'em  and   gyuarded  'em,  but   ef  yer 

goin'  away  — 
Nothin'  to  say,  my  daughter !  Nothin'  at  all  to  say ! 

You  don't  rickollect  her,  I  reckon  ?     No ;  you  was  n't 

a  year  old  then ! 
And   now   yer  —  how  old   air  you?    W'y,  child,  not 

"twenty"!    When? 
And   yer  nex'  birthday  's  in  Aprile  ?   and  you  want 

to  git  married  that  day? 
I    wisht   yer   mother    was   livin' !  —  but    I  hain't   got 

nothin'  to  say ! 

Twenty  year !    and   as   good   a   gyrl   as   parent  ever 

found ! 
There  's  a  straw  ketched  onto  yer  dress  there  —  I  '11 

bresh  it  off — turn  round. 

(Her  mother  was  jest  twenty  when  us  two  run  away.) 
Nothin'  to  say,  my  daughter!  Nothin'  at  all  to  say! 


THE   ABSENCE    OF    LITTLE   WESLEY 

SENCE   little    Wesley   went,    the    place   seems    all    so 

strange  and  still — 
W'y,  I  miss  his  yell  o'  "  Gran'pap ! "  as  I  'd  miss  the 

whipperwill ! 
And  to  think  I  ust   to  scold  him   fer  his  everlastin' 

noise, 

\Vhen  I  on'y  rickollect  him  as  the  best  o'  little  boys! 
I    wisht    a    hunderd    times    a    day    'at    he    'd    come 

trompin'  in, 
And  all  the  noise  he  ever  made  was  twic't  as  loud 

ag'in !  — 
It  'u'd  seem  like  some  soft   music   played  on  some 

fine  insturment, 
'Longside    o'    this    loud    lonesomeness,    sence    little 

Wesley   went ! 

18 


THE  ABSENCE   OF  LITTLE    WESLEY          ig 

Of  course  the  clock  don't  tick  no  louder  than  it  ust 

to  do  — 
Yit    now   they   's   times   it   'pears    like    it   'u'd    bu'st 

itse'f  in  two ! 
And   let  a  rooster,  suddent-like,  crow   som'ers   clos't 

around, 
And  seems  's  ef,  mighty  nigh  it,  it  'u'd  lift  me  off  the 

ground ! 
And  same  with  all  the  cattle  when  they  bawl  around 

the  bars, 
In  the  red  o'  airly  mornin',  er  the  dusk  and  dew  and 

stars, 
When  the  neighbers'  boys  'at  passes  never  stop,  but 

jes'  go  on, 
A-whistlin'  kind  o'  to  theirse'v's — sence  little  Wesley  's 

gone! 

And  then,  o'  nights,  when  Mother  's  settin'  up  on- 
common  late, 

A-bilin'  pears  er  somepin',  and  I  set  and  smoke  and  wait, 

Tel  the  moon  out  through  the  winder  don't  look 
bigger  'n  a  dime, 

And  things  keeps  gittin'  stiller — stiller — stiller  all  the 
time, — 


20  THE  ABSENCE   OF  LITTLE    WESLEY 

I  've  ketched  myse'f  a-wishin'  like  —  as  I  dumb  on 

the  cheer 
To  wind  the  clock,  as  I  hev  done  fer  more  'n  fifty 

year  — 

A-wishin'  'at  the  time  hed  come  fer  us  to  go  to  bed, 
With  our  last  prayers,  and  our  last  tears,  sence  little 

Wesley  's  dead! 


THE  USED-TO-BE 

BEYOND  the  purple,  hazy  trees 
Of  summer's  utmost  boundaries ; 
Beyond  the  sands — beyond  the  seas — 
Beyond  the  range  of  eyes  like  these, 
And  only  in  the  reach  of  the 
Enraptured  gaze  of  Memory, 
There  lies  a  land,  long  lost  to  me, — 
The  land  of  Used-to-be! 

A  land  enchanted — such  as  swung 
In  golden  seas  when  sirens  clung 
Along  their  dripping  brinks,  and  sung 
To  Jason  in  that  mystic  tongue 

That  dazed  men  with  its  melody  — 
O  such  a  land,  with  such  a  sea 
Kissing  its  shores  eternally, 
Is  the  fair  Used- to-be. 

A  land  where  music  ever  girds 
The  air  with  belts  of  singing-birds, 


22  THE    USED-70-BE 

And  sows  all  sounds  with  such  sweet  words, 

That  even  in  the  low  of  herds 
A  meaning  lives  so  sweet  to  me, 
Lost  laughter  ripples  limpidly 
From  lips  brimmed  over  with  the  glee 
Of  rare  old  Used-to-be. 

Lost  laughter,  and  the  whistled  tunes 
Of  boyhood's  mouth  of  crescent  runes, 
That  rounded,  through  long  afternoons, 
To  serenading  plenilunes  — 
When  starlight  fell  so  mistily 
That,  peering  up  from  bended  knee, 
I  dreamed  't  was  bridal  drapery 
Snowed  over  Used-to-be. 

O  land  of  love  and  dreamy  thoughts, 
And  shining  fields,  and  shady  spots 
Of  coolest,  greenest  grassy  plots, 
Embossed  with  wild  forget-me-nots!  — 

And  all  ye  blooms  that  longingly 

Lift  your  fair  faces  up  to  me 

Out  of  the  past,  I  kiss  in  ye 
The  lips  of  Used-to-be. 


AT  "THE  LITERARY" 

FOLKS  in  town,  I  reckon,  thinks 
They  git  all  the  fun  they  air 
Runnin'  loose  'round!  —  but,  'y  jinks! 
We'  got  fun,  and  fun  to  spare, 
Right  out  here  amongst  the  ash- 
And  oak- timber  ever'where! 
Some  folks  else  kin  cut  a  dash 
'Sides  town-people,  don't  fergit!  — 
'Specially  in  winter-time, 
When  they  's  snow,  and  roads  is  fit. 
In  them  circumstances  I  'm 
Resig-nated  to  my  lot — 
Which  putts  me  in  mind  o'  what 
'S  called  "  The  Literary." 


24  AT  "THE  LITERARY" 

Us  folks  in  the  country  sees 
Lots  o'  fun! — Take  spellin'-school ; 
Er  ole  hoe-down  jamborees ; 
Er  revivals ;   er  ef  you  '11 
Tackle  taffy-pullin's  you 
Kin  git  fun,  and  quite  a  few !  — 
Same  with  huskin's.     But  all  these 
Kind  o'  frolics  they  hain't  new 
By  a  hunderd  year'  er  two, 
Cipher  on  it  as  you  please! 
But  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  jest 
Think  walks  over  all  the  rest — 
Anyway  it  suits  me  best, — 
That  's  "  The  Literary." 

First  they  started  it — "'y  gee!" 

Thinks-says-I,  "this  settle-ment 

'S  gittin'  too  high-toned  fer  me!;: 

But  when  all  begin  to  jine, 

And  I  heerd  Izory  went, 

I  jest  kind  o'  drapped  in  line, 

Like  you  've  seen  some  sandy,  thin, 

Scrawny  shoat  putt  fer  the  crick 

Down  some  pig-trail  through  the  thick 


AT  "THE   LITERARY"  25 

Spice-bresh,  where  the  whole  drove  's  been 
'Bout  six  weeks  'fore  he  gits  in!  — 

'  Can't  tell  nothin',"  I-says-ee, 

'  'Bout  it  tel  you  go  and  see 

Their  blame  '  Literary '!" 


Very  first  night  I  was  there 
I  was  'p'inted  to  be  what 
They  call  "  Critic  " — so  's  a  fair 
And  square  jedgment  could  be  got 
On  the  pieces  'at  was  read, 
And  on  the  debate, — "  Which  air 
Most  destructive  element, 


26  AT  "THE  LITERARY" 

Fire  er  worter  ?  "    Then  they  hed 
Compositions  on  "  Content," 
"  Death,"  and  "  Botany  "  ;   and  Tomps 


He  read  one  on  "  Dreenin'  swamps  " 
I  p'nounced  the  boss,  and  said, 
"So  fur,  'at  's  the  best  thing  read 
In  yer  '  Literary  ' !  " 


AT   "THE   LITERARY' 


27 


Then  they  sung  some — tel  I  called 

Order,  and  got  back  ag'in 

In  the  critic's  cheer,  and  hauled 

All  o'  the  p'formers  in :  — 

Mandy  Brizendine  read  one 

I  fergit ;   and  Doc's  was  "  Thought " ; 


28  AT  "THE  LITERARY" 

And  Sarepty's,  hern  was  "  None 
Air  denied  'at^  knocks;"  and  Daut- 
Fayette  Strawnse's  little  niece  — 
She  got  up  and  spoke  a  piece : 
Then  Izory  she  read  hern  — 
"  Best  thing  in  the  whole  concern," 
I-says-ee ;   "  now  le'  's  adjourn 
This-here  '  Literary  ' !  " 

They  was  some  contendin' — yit 
We  broke  up  in  harmony. 
'    Road  outside  as  white  as  grit, 
And  as  slick  as  slick  could  be!  — 
I  'd  fetched  'Zory  in  my  sleigh, — 
And  I  had  a  heap  to  say, 


AT  "THE  LITERARY"  29 

Drivin'  back — in  fact,  I  driv 
'Way  around  the  old  north  way, 
Where  the  Daubenspeckses  live. 
'Zory  allus — 'fore  that  night  — 
Never  'peared  to  feel  jest  right 
In  my  company. — You  see, 
On'y  thing  on  earth  saved  me 
Was  that  "  Literary  "! 


ONE   AFTERNOON 

BELOW,  cool  grasses :  over  us 
The  maples  waver  tremulous. 

A  slender  overture  above, 

Low  breathing  as  a  sigh  of  love 

At  first,  then  gradually  strong 

And  stronger:  't  is  the  locust's  song, 

Swoln  midway  to  a  paean  of  glee, 
And  lost  in  silence  dwindlingly. 

Not  utter  silence;  nay,  for  hid 
In  ghosts  of  it,  the  katydid 

Chirrs  a  diluted  echo  of 

The  loveless  song  he  makes  us  love. 


The  low  boughs  are  drugged  heavily 
With  shade;  the  poem  you  read  to  me 

Is  not  more  gracious  than  the  trill 
Of  birds  that  twitter  as  they  will. 

Half  consciously,  with  upturned  eyes, 
I  hear  your  voice  —  I  see  the  skies, 

Where,  o'er  bright  rifts,  the  swallows  glance 
Like  glad  thoughts  o'er  a  countenance; 

And  voices  near  and  far  are  blent 
Like  sweet  chords  of  some  instrument 

Awakened  by  the  trembling  touch 
Of  hands  that  love  it  overmuch. 

Dear  heart,  let  be  the  book  awhile! 
I  want  your  face  —  I  want  your  smile ! 

Tell  me  how  gladder  now  are  they 
Who  look  on  us  from  heaven  to-day. 


DOWN    TO    THE    CAPITAL 

I  '  BE'N  down  to  the  Capital  at  Washington,  D.  C., 
Where  Congerss  meets  and  passes  on  the  pensions 

ort  to  be 
Allowed  to  old  one-legged  chaps,  like  me,  'at  sence 

the  war 
Don't  wear  their  pants  in  pairs  at  all  —  and  yit  how 

proud  we  are! 

Old  Flukens,  from  our  deestrick,  jes'  turned  in  and 

tuck  and  made 
Me  stay  with  him  while  I  was  there ;  and  longer  'at 

I  stayed 

The  more  I  kep'  a-wantin'  jes'  to  kind  o'  git  away, 
And  yit  a-feelin'  sociabler  with  Flukens  ever'  day. 


DOWN  TO    THE   CAPITAL 


33 


You  see  I  'd  got  the  idy  —  and  I  guess  most  folks 

agrees  — 
'At  men  as  rich  as  him,  you  know,  kin  do  jes'  what 

they  please; 
A  man  worth  stacks  o'  money,  and  a  Congerssman 

and  all, 
And  livin'  in  a  buildin'  bigger  'n  Masonic  Hall! 

Now  mind,  I  'm  not  a-faultin'  Fluke  —  he  made  his 

money  square : 
We  both  was  Forty-niners,  and  both  bu'sted  gittin' 

there ; 
I   weakened  and   onwindlassed,   and  he  stuck  and 

stayed  and  made 
His  millions ;  don't  know  what  /  ';«  worth  untel  my 

pension  's  paid. 

But  I  was  goin'  to  tell  you  —  er  a-ruther  goin'  to  try 
To  tell  you  how  he  's  livin'  now :  gas  burnin'  mighty 

nigh 
In  ever'  room  about  the  house;  and  all  the  night, 

about, 
Some  blame  reception  goin'  on,  and  money  goin'  out. 


34 


DOWN  TO    THE   CAPITAL 

They  's  people  there  from  all  the  world  —  jes'  ever' 

kind  'at  lives, 

Injuns  and  all !  and  Senaters,  and  Ripresentatives ; 
And  girls,  you  know,  jes'  dressed  in  gauze  and  roses, 

I  declare, 
And  even  old  men  shamblin'  round  and  waltzin'  with 

'em  there! 

And  bands  a-tootin'  circus-tunes,  'way  in  some  other 

room 
Jes'  chokin'  full  o'  hot-house  plants  and  pinies  and 

perfume ; 
And   fountains,  squirtin'   stiddy  all   the    time;    and 

statutes,  made 
Out  o'  puore  marble,  'peared-like,  sneakin'   round 

there  in  the  shade. 

And  Fluke  he  coaxed  and  begged  and  pled  with 

me  to  take  a  hand 
And  sashay  in  amongst  'em  —  crutch  and  all,  you 

understand ; 
But  when  I  said  how   tired    I  was,  and  made  fer 

open  air, 
He  follered,  and  tel  five  o'clock  we  set  a-talkin'  there. 


DOWN  TO    THE   CAPITAL 


35 


"  My   God !  "   says   he  —  Fluke   says   to   me,  "  I    'm 

tireder  'n  you; 

Don't  putt  up  yer  tobacker  tel  you  give  a  man  a  chew. 
Set  back  a  leetle  furder  in  the  shadder — that  '11  do; 
I  'm  tireder  'n  you,  old  man;  I  'm  tireder  'n  you. 

"  You  see  that-air  old  dome,"  says  he,  "  humped  up 

ag'inst  the  sky? 
It 's  grand,  first  time  you  see  it ;  but  it  changes,  by 

and  by, 
And  then  it  stays  jes'  thataway  —  jes'  anchored  high 

and  dry 
Betwixt  the  sky  up    yender  and  the  achin'  of  yer 

eye. 

"  Night  's   purty ;   not  so  purty,  though,  as   what  it 

ust  to  be 
When  my  first  wife  was  livin'.  You  remember  her  ?  " 

says  he. 
I  nodded-like,  and  Fluke  went  on,  "  I  wonder  now 

ef  she 
Knows  where  I  am  —  and  what  I  am  —  and  what 

I  ust  to  be  ? 


36  DOWN  TO    THE   CAPITAL 

"  That  band  in   there !  —  I    ust   to    think    'at   music 

could  n't  wear 
A  feller  out  the  way  it  does;  but  that  ain't  music 

there  — 

That 's  jes'  a'  imitation,  and  like  ever'thing,  I  swear, 
I  hear,  er  see,  er  tetch,  er  taste,  er  tackle  anywhere  1 


"  It 's  all  jes'  artificial,  this-ere  high-priced  life  of  ours ; 
The  theory,  it 's  sweet  enough,  tel  it  saps  down  and 

sours. 
They  's  no  home  left,  ner  ties  o'  home  about  it.     By 

the  powers, 
The  whole  thing  's  artificialer  'n  artificial  flowers ! 


"  And  all  I  want,  and  could  lay  down  and  sob  fer, 

is  to  know 
The  homely  things  of  homely  life ;  fer  instance,  jes' 

to  go 
And  set  down  by  the  kitchen  stove  —  Lord !    that 

'u'd  rest  me  so, — 
Jes'  set  there,  like  I  ust  to  do,  and  laugh  and  joke, 

you  know. 


DOWN  TO    THE    CAPITAL 


37 


"  Jes'   set    there,    like    I    ust    to    do,"    says    Fluke, 

a-startin'  in, 
Teared-like,  to  say  the  whole   thing   over   to   his- 

se'f  ag'in; 
Then   stopped   and  turned,  and  kind   o'   coughed, 

and  stooped  and  fumbled  fer 
Somepin'  o'  'nuther  in  the  grass — I  guess  his  hand- 

kercher. 

Well,  sence  I  'm  back  from  Washington,  where  I 
left  Fluke  a-still 

A-leggin'  fer  me,  heart  and  soul,  on  that-air  pen 
sion  bill, 

I  "ve  half-way  struck  the  notion,  when  I  think  o' 
wealth  and  sich, 

They  's  nothin'  much  patheticker  'n  jes'  a-bein'  rich ! 


THE    POET   OF   THE  FUTURE 

O  THE  Poet  of  the  Future!      He  will  come  to  us  as 

comes 
The  beauty  of  the  bugle's  voice  above  the  roar  of 

drums  — 

The  beauty  of  the  bugle's  voice  above  the  roar  and  din 
Of  battle-drums  that  pulse  the  time  the  victor  marches 

in. 
His  hands  will  hold  no  harp,  in  sooth ;  his  lifted  brow 

will  bear 

No  coronet  of  laurel — nay,  nor  symbol  anywhere, 
Save  that  his  palms  are  brothers  to  the  toiler's  at  the 

plow, 
His  face  to  heaven,  and  the  dew  of  duty  on  his  brow. 

He  will  sing  across  the  meadow, —  and  the  woman  at 

the  well 

Will  stay  the  dripping  bucket,  with  a  smile  ineffable ; 

38 


THE  POET  OF    THE  FUTURE 


39 


And  the  children  in  the  orchard  will  gaze  wistfully  the 

way 
The  happy  song  comes  to  them,  with  the  fragrance  of 

the  hay ; 
The  barn  will  neigh  in  answer,  and  the  pasture-lands 

behind 
Will  chime  with  bells,  and  send  responsive  lowings 

down  the  wind ; 

And  all  the  echoes  of  the  wood  will  jubilantly  call 
In  sweetest  mimicry  of  that  one  sweetest  voice  of  all. 

O  the  Poet  of  the  Future!      He  will  come  as  man  to 

man, 
With  the  honest  arm  of  labor,  and  the  honest  face  of 

tan, 

The  honest  heart  of  lowliness,  the  honest  soul  of  love 
For  human-kind  and  nature-kind  about  him  and  above. 
His  hands  will  hold  no  harp,  in  sooth ;   his  lifted  brow 

will  bear 

No  coronet  of  laurel — nay,  nor  symbol  anywhere, 
Save  that  his  palms  are  brothers  to  the  toiler's  at  the 

plow, 
His  face  to  heaven,  and  the  dew  of  duty  on  his  brow. 


THE   OLD   MAN   AND  JIM 

OLD  man  never  had  much  to  say — 

'Ceptin'  to  Jim, — 
And  Jim  was  the  wildest  boy  he  had  — 

And  the  old  man  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him! 
Never  heerd  him  speak  but  once 
Er  twice  in  my  life, —  and  first  time  was 
When  the  army  broke  out,  and  Jim  he  went, 
The  old  man  backin'  him,  fer  three  months; 
An'  all  'at  I  heerd  the  old  man  say 
Was,  jes'  as  we  turned  to  start  away, — 

"  Well,  good-by,  Jim : 
Take  keer  of  yourse'f !  " 

Teared-like,  he  was  more  satisfied 

Jes'  lookirf  at  Jim 
And  likin'  him  all  to  hisse'f-like,  see  ?  — 

'Cause  he  was  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him  ! 


THE   OLD  MAN  AND  JIM  41 

And  over  and  over  I  mind  the  day 

The    old    man    come    and    stood    round    in    the 

way 

While  we  was  drillin',  a-watchin'  Jim — 
And  down  at  the  deepot  a-heerin'  him  say, 
"Well,  good-by,  Jim: 
Take  keer  of  yourse'f !  " 


Never  was  nothin'  about  the  farm 

Disting'ished  Jim; 
Neighbors  all  ust  to  wonder  why 

The  old  man  'peared  wrapped  up  in  him : 
But  when  Cap.  Biggler  he  writ  back 
'At  Jim  was  the  bravest  boy  we  had 
In  the  whole  dern  rigiment,  white  er  black, 
And  his  fightin'  good  as  his  farmin'  bad — 
'At  he  had  led,  with  a  bullet  clean 
Bored  through  his  thigh,  and  carried  the  flag 
Through  the  bloodiest  battle  you  ever  seen,— 
The  old  man  wound  up  a  letter  to  him 
'At  Cap.  read  to  us,  'at  said:  "Tell  Jim 

Good-by, 

And  take  keer  of  hisse'f." 


42  THE   OLD  MAN  AND  JIM 

Jim  come  home  jes'  long  enough 

To  take  the  whim 
'At  he  'd  like  to  go  back  in  the  calvery — 

And  the  old  man  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him! 
Jim  'lowed  'at  he  'd  had  sich  luck  afore, 
Guessed  he  'd  tackle  her  three  years  more. 
And  the  old  man  give  him  a  colt  he  'd  raised, 
And  follered  him  over  to  Camp  Ben  Wade, 
And  laid  around  fer  a  week  er  so, 
Watchin'  Jim  on  dress-parade  — 
Tel  finally  he  rid  away, 
And  last  he  heerd  was  the  old  man  say, — 

"Well,  good-by,  Jim: 
Take  keer  of  yourse'f ! " 


Tuk  the  papers,  the  old  man  did, 

A-watchin'  fer  Jim  — 
Fully  believin'  he  'd  make  his  mark 

Some  way — jes'  wrapped  up  in  him!  — 
And  many  a  time  the  word  'u'd  come 
'At  stirred  him  up  like  the  tap  of  a  drum  — 
At  Petersburg,  fer  instunce,  where 
Jim  rid  right  into  their  cannons  there, 


THE   OLD  MAN  AND  JIM 


43 


And  tuk  'em,  and  p'inted  'em  t'  other  way, 
And  socked  it  home  to  the  boys  in  gray, 
As  they  scooted  fer  timber,  and  on  and  on  — 
Jim  a  lieutenant  and  one  arm  gone, 
And  the  old  man's  words  in  his  mind  all  day, — 
"  Well,  good-by,  Jim : 
Take  keer  of  yourse'f !  " 

Think  of  a  private,  now,  perhaps, 

We  '11  say  like  Jim, 
'At  's  dumb  clean  up  to  the  shoulder-straps  — 

And  the  old  man  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him! 
Think  of  him  —  with  the  war  plum'  through, 
And  the  glorious  old  Red-White-and-Blue 
A-laughin'  the  news  down  over  Jim, 
And  the  old  man,  bendin'  over  him  — 
The  surgeon  turm'n'  away  with  tears 
'At  had  n't  leaked  fer  years  and  years, 
As  the  hand  of  the  dyin'  boy  clung  to 
His  father's,  the  old  voice  in  his  ears, — 

"Well,  good-by,  Jim: 
Take  keer  of  yourse'f!  " 


THOUGHTS    ON    THE    LATE    WAR     ^ 

I  WAS  for  Union  —  you,  ag'in'  it. 
Tears  like,  to  me,  each  side  was  winner, 
Lookin'  at  now  and  all  'at  's  in  it. 
Le'  's  go  to  dinner. 

Le'  's  kind  o'  jes'  set  down  together 
And  do  some  pardnership  forgittin' — 
Talk,  say,  fer  instunce,  'bout  the  weather, 
Er  somepin'  fittin'. 

The  war,  you  know,  's  all  done  and  ended, 
And  ain't  changed  no  p'ints  o'  the  compass; 
Both  North  and  South  the  health  's  jes'  splendid 
As  'fore  the  rumpus. 

The  old  farms  and  the  old  plantations 
Still  ockipies  the'r  old  positions. 
Le'  's  git  back  to  old  situations 

And  old  ambitions. 


THOUGHTS  ON  THE  LATE    WAR 

Le'  's  let  up  on  this  blame',  infernal 
Tongue-lashin'  and  lap-jacket  vauntin', 
And  git  back  home  to  the  eternal 

Ca'm  we  're  a-wantin'. 

Peace  kind  o'  sort  o'  suits  my  diet  — 
When  women  does  my  cookin'  for  me. 
Ther'  was  n't  overly  much  pie  et 
Durin'  the  army. 


45 


THE    OLD    BAND 


IT  's  mighty  good  to  git  back  to  the  old  town,  shore, 
Considerin'  I  've  be'n  away  twenty  year  and  more. 
Sence  I  moved   then   to    Kansas,  of  course  I  see  a 

change, 
A-comin'  back,  and  notice  things  that  's  new  to  me 

and  strange ; 

Especially  at  evening  when  yer  new  band-fellers  meet, 
In  fancy  uniforms  and  all,  and  play  out  on  the  street — 
.     .     What  's  come  of  old  Bill  Lindsey  and  the 
saxhorn  fellers  —  say  ? 

I  want  to  hear  the  old  band  play. 
46 


THE   OLD  BAND 


47 


What  's   come   of  Eastman,  and    Nat   Snow?      And 

where  's  War  Barnett  at  ? 
And  Nate  and  Bony  Meek;  Bill  Hart;  Tom  Richa'- 

son  and  that 
Air  brother  of  him  played  the  drum  as  twic't  as  big 

as  Jim; 
And  old  Hi  Kerns,  the  carpenter  —  say,  what  's   be 

come  o'  him? 
I  make  no  doubt  yer  new  band  now  's  a  competenter 

band, 
And  plays  their  music  more  by  note  than  what  they 

play  by  hand, 
And   stylisher   and    grander   tunes;    but    somehow  — 


I  want  to  hear  the  old  band  play. 

Sich    tunes  as  "  John    Brown's    Body  "  and   "  Sweet 

Alice,"  don't  you  know; 
And  "  The  Camels  is  A-comin',''  and  "  John  Ander 

son,  my  Jo  "  ; 
And  a  dozent  others  of  'em  —  "  Number  Nine  "  and 

"  Number  'Leven  " 
Was    i^NQ-rites   that    fairly    made   a    feller   dream   o' 

heaven. 

7 


THE   OLD  BAND 


And  when  the  boys  'u'd  saranade,  I  've  laid  so  still 

in  bed 
I  've  even  heerd  the  locus'-blossoms  droppin'  on  the 

shed 
When   "  Lily    Dale,"  er  "  Hazel    Dell,"   had    sobbed 

and  died  away  — 

.     .     .     I  want  to  hear  the  old  band  play. 


THE   OLD  BAND 


49 


Yer   new   band   ma'by   beats   it,  but  the  old  band  's 

what  I  said  — 
It  allus  'peared  to  kind  o'  chord  with  somepin'  in  my 

head; 
And,  whilse  I  'm  no  musicianer,  when  my  blame'  eyes 

is  jes' 
Nigh  drownded  out,  and    Mem'ry  squares   her  jaws 

and  sort  o'  says 

She  won't  ner  never  will  fergit,  I  want  to  jes'  turn  in 
And  take  and  light  right   out  o'  here   and   git  back 

West  ag'in 
And  stay  there,  when  I  git  there,  where  I  never  haf ' 

to  say 

* 

I  want  to  hear  the  old  band  play. 


"  LAST  CHRISTMAS  WAS  A  YEAR  AGO  " 
(THE  OLD  LADY  SPEAKS) 

LAST  Christmas  was  a  year  ago, 
Says  I  to  David,  I-says-I, 
"We  're  goin'  to  morning-service,  so 
You  hitch  up  right  away  :  I  '11  try 
To  tell  the  girls  jes'  what  to  do 
Fer  dinner. — We  '11  be  back  by  two." 
I  did  n't  wait  to  hear  what  he 
Would  more  'n  like  say  back  to  me, 
But  banged  the  stable  door  and  flew 
Back  to  the  house,  jes'  plumb  chilled  through. 

Cold!    Wooh!  how  cold  it  was!  My-oh! 

Frost  flyin',  and  the  air,  you  know, 
"  Jes'  sharp  enough,"  heerd  David  swear, 
"  To  shave  a  man  and  cut  his  hair ! " 


"LAST  CHRISTMAS    WAS  A    YEAR  AGO" 


51 


And  blow  and  blow !  and  snow  and  snow !  — 

Where  it  had  drifted  'long  the  fence 

And  'crost  the  road, —  some  places,  though, 

Jes'  swep'  clean  to  the  gravel,  so 

The  goin'  was  as  bad  fer  sleighs 

As  't  was  fer  wagons, —  and  both  ways, 

'Twixt  snowdrifts  and  the  bare  ground,  I  Ve 

Jes'  wundered  we  got  through  alive; 

I  hain't  saw  nothin',  'fore  er  sence, 

'At  beat  it  anywheres,  I  know- — 

Last  Christmas  was  a  year  ago. 


And  David  said,  as  we  set  out, 

'At  Christmas  services  was  'bout 

As  cold  and  wuthless  kind  o'  love 

To  offer  up  as  he  knowed  of; 

And  as  fer  him,  he  railly  thought 

'At  the  Good  Bein'  up  above 

Would  think  more  of  us  —  as  he  ought  — 

A-stayin'  home  on  sich  a  day, 

And  thankin'  of  him  thataway! 

And  jawed  on,  in  an  undertone, 

'Bout  leavin'  Lide  and  Jane  alone 


LAST  CHRISTMAS    WAS  A    YEAR  AGO" 

There  on  the  place,  and  me  not  there 
To  oversee  'em,  and  p'pare 
The  stuffin'  fer  the  turkey  and 
The  sass  and  all,  you  understand. 

I  Ve  allus  managed  David  by 

Jes'  sayin'  nothirf.     That  was  why 

He  'd  chased  Lide's  beau  away  —  'cause 

Lide 

She  'd  allus  take  up  Perry's  side 
When  David  tackled  him;  and  so, 
Last  Christmas  was  a  year  ago, — 
Er  ruther,  'bout  a  week  afore, — 
David  and  Perry  'd  quarr'l'd  about 
Some  torn-fool  argyment,  you  know, 
And  Pap  told  him  to  "Jes'  git  out 
O'  there,  and  not  to  come  no  more, 
And,  when  he  went,  to  shet  the  door ! " 
And  as  he  passed  the  winder,  we 
Saw  Perry,  white  as  white  could  be, 
March  past,  onhitch  his  hoss,  and  light 
A  see-gyar,  and  lope  out  o'  sight. 
Then  Lide  she  come  to  me  and  cried ! 
And  I  said  nothin' — was  no  need. 


LAST  CHRISTMAS   WAS  A    YEAR  AGO" 

And  yit,  you  know,  that  man  jes'  got 
Right  out  o'  there  's  ef  he  'd  be'n  shot, 
P'tendin'  he  must  go  and  feed 
The  stock  er  somepin'.     Then  I  tried 
To  git  the  pore  girl  pacified. 

But,  gittin'  back  to  —  where  was  we  ?  — 

Oh,  yes!  —  where  David  lectered  me 

All  way  to  meetin",  high  and  low, 

Last  Christmas  was  a  year  ago  : 

Fer  all  the  awful  cold,  they  was 

A  fair  attendunce ;  mostly,  though, 

The  crowd  was  'round  the  stoves,  you  see, 

Thawin'  their  heels  and  scrougin'  us. 

Ef  't  'ad  n't  be'n  fer  the  old  Squire 

Givin'  his  seat  to  us,  as  in 

We  stomped,  a-fairly  perishin', 

And  David  could  'a'  got  no  fire, 

He  'd  jes'  'a'  drapped  there  in  his  tracks : 

And  Squire,  as  I  was  tryin'  to  yit 

Make  room  fer  him,  says,  "  No ;  the  fac's 

Is,  /  got  to  git  up  and  git 

'Ithout  no  preachin'.     Jes'  got  word — 

Trial  fer  life  —  can't  be  deferred!" 


S3 


54 


LAST  CHRISTMAS    WAS  A    YEAR  AGO" 

And  out  he  putt!   And  all  way  through 
The  sermont  —  and  a  long  one,  too  — 
I  could  n't  he'p  but  think  o'  Squire 
And  us  changed  round  so,  and  admire 
His  gintle  ways, —  to  give  his  warm 
Bench  up,  and  have  to  face  the  storm. 
And  when  I  noticed  David,  he 
Was  needin'  jabbin' — I  thought  best 
To  kind  o'  sort  o'  let  him  rest: 
Teared-like  he  slep'  so  peacefully! 
And  then  I  thought  o'  home,  and  how 
And  what  the  gyrls  was  doin'  now, 
And  kind  o'  prayed,  'way  in  my  breast, 
And  breshed  away  a  tear  er  two 
As  David  waked,  and  church  was  through. 

By  time  we  'd  "  howdyed "  round  and  shuck 

Hands  with  the  neighbers,  must  'a'  tuck 

A  half  hour  longer :  ever'  one 

A-sayin'  "  Christmas  gift !  "  afore 

David  er  me  —  so  we  got  none ! 

But  David  warmed  up,  more  and  more, 

And  got  so  jokey-like,  and  had 

His  sperits  up,  and  'peared  so  glad, 


•LAST  CHRISTMAS   WAS  A    YEAR  AGO" 

I  whispered  to  him,  "  S'pose  you  ast 

A  passel  of  'em  come  and  eat 

Their  dinners  with  us.     Gyrls  's  got 

A  full-and-plenty  fer  the  lot 

And  all  their  kin ! "     So  David  passed 

The  invite  round:  and  ever'  seat 

In  ever'  wagon-bed  and  sleigh 

Was  jes'  packed,  as  we  rode  away, — 

The  young  folks,  mild  er  so  along, 

A-strikin'  up  a  sleighin'-song, 

Tel  David  laughed  and  yelled,  you  know, 

And  jes'  whirped  up  and  sent  the  snow 

And  gravel  flyin'  thick  and  fast  — 

Last  Christmas  was  a  year  ago. 

W'y,  that-air  seven-mild  ja'nt  we  come  — 

Jes'  seven  mild  scant  from  church  to  home- 

It  did  n't  'pear,  that  day,  to  be 

Much  furder  railly  'n  'bout  three! 

But  I  was  purty  squeamish  by 
The  time  home  hove  in  sight  and  I 
See  two  vehickles  standin'  there 
Already.     So  says  I,  "Prepare!" 
All  to  myse'f.     And  presently 


55 


56     "LAST  CHRISTMAS   WAS  A    YEAR  AGO" 

David  he  sobered;  and  says  he, 
"  Hain't  that-air  Squire  Ranch's  old 
Buggy,"  he  says,  "  and  claybank  mare  ?  " 
Says  I,  "  Le'  's  git  in  out  the  cold  — 
Your  company  's  nigh  'bout  froze!"    He  says, 
"  Whose  sleigh  's  that-air,  a-standin'  there  ?  " 
Says  I,  "  It  's  no  odds  whose  — you  jes' 
Drive  to  the  house  and  let  us  out, 
'Cause  we  're  jes'  freezin\  nigh  about ! " 
Well,  David  swung  up  to  the  door, 
And  out  we  piled.     And  first  I  heerd 
Jane's  voice,  then  Lide's, —  I  thought  afore 
I  reached  that  gyrl  I  'd  jes'  die,  shore; 
And  when  I  reached  her,  would  n't  keered 
Much  ef  I  had,  I  was  so  glad, 
A-kissin'  her  through  my  green  veil, 
And  jes'  excitin'  her  so  bad, 
'At  she  broke  down  herse'f — and  Jane, 
She  cried  —  and  we  all  hugged  again. 
And  David? — David  jes'  turned  pale!  — 
Looked  at  the  gyrls,  and  then  at  me, 
Then  at  the  open  door  —  and  then  — 
"  Is  old  Squire  Hanch  in  there  ?  "  says  he. 


LAST  CHRISTMAS   WAS  A    YEAR  AGO" 


57 


The  old  Squire  suddently  stood  in 
The  doorway,  with  a  sneakin'  grin. 
"  Is  Perry  Anders  in  there,  too  ?  " 
Says  David,  limberin'  all  through, 
As  Lide  and  me  both  grabbed  him,  and 
Perry  stepped  out  and  waved  his  hand 
And  says,  "  Yes,  Pap."     And  David  jes' 
Stooped  and  kissed  Lide,  and  says,  "  I  guess 
Yer  mother  's  much  to  blame  as  you. 
Ef  she  kin  resk  him,  I  kin  too !  " 


The  dinner  we  had  then  hain't  no 

Bit  better  'n  the  one  to-day 

'At  we  '11  have  fer  'em.     Hear  some  sleigh 

A-jinglin'  now.     David,  fer  me, 

I  wish  you  'd   jes'  go  out  and  see 

Ef  they  're  in  sight  yit.     It  jes'  does 

Me  good  to  think,  in  times  like  these, 

Lide  's  done  so  well.     And  David,  he  's 

More  tractabler  'n  what  he  was  — 

Last  Christmas  was  a  year  ago. 


THE   ALL-KIND    MOTHER 

Lo,  whatever  is  at  hand 
Is  full  meet  for  the  demand : 
Nature  ofttimes  giveth  best 
When  she  seemeth  chariest. 
She  hath  shapen  shower  and  sun 
To  the  need  of  every  one  — 
Summer  bland  and  winter  drear, 
Dimpled  pool  and  frozen  mere. 
All  thou  lackest  she  hath  still 
Near  thy  finding  and  thy  fill. 
Yield  her  fullest  faith,  and  she 
Will  endow  thee  royally. 

Loveless  weed  and  lily  fair 
She  attendeth,  here  and  there — 
Kindly  to  the  weed  as  to 
The  lorn  lily  teared  with  dew. 

58 


THE  ALL-KIND  MOTHER 

Each  to  her  hath  use  as  dear 

As  the  other ;   an  thou  clear 

Thy  cloyed  senses  thou  may'st  see 

Haply  all  the  mystery. 

Thou  shall  see  the  lily  get 

Its  divinest  blossom  ;   yet 

Shall  the  weed's  tip  bloom  no  less 

With  the  song-bird's  gleefulness. 

Thou  art  poor,  or  thou  art  rich — 
Never  lightest  matter  which  ; 
All  the  glad  gold  of  the  noon, 
All  the  silver  of  the  moon, 
She  doth  lavish  on  thee,  while 
Thou  withholdest  any  smile 
Of  thy  gratitude  to  her, 
Baser  used  than  usurer. 
Shame  be  on  thee  an  thou  seek 
Not  her  pardon,  with  hot  cheek, 
And  bowed  head,  and  brimming  eyes, 
At  her  merciful  "Arise!" 


59 


OUR    HIRED    GIRL 

OUR  hired  girl,  she  's  'Lizabuth  Ann ; 

An'  she  can  cook  best  things  to  eat! 
She  ist  puts  dough  in  our  pie-pan, 

An'  pours  in  somepin'  'at  's  good  an'  sweet ; 
An'  nen  she  salts  it  all  on  top 
With  cinnamon ;   an'  nen  she  '11  stop 

An'  stoop  an'  slide  it,  ist  as  slow, 
In  th"  old  cook-stove,  so  's  't  won't  slop 
60 


OUR  HIRED   GIRL  61 

An'  git  all  spilled ;  nen  bakes  it,  so 
It  's  custard-pie,  first  thing  you  know! 

An'  nen  she  '11  say, 
'.'  Clear  out  o'  my  way ! 
They  's  time  fer  work,  an'  time  fer  play! 
Take  yer  dough,  an'  run,  child,  run! 
Er  I  cain't  git  no  cookin'  done! " 


When  our  hired  girl  'tends  like  she  's  mad, 

An'  says  folks  got  to  walk  the  chalk 
When  she  's  around,  er  wisht  they  had! 

I  play  out  on  our  porch  an'  talk 
To  th'  Raggedy  Man  'at  mows  our  lawn ; 
An'  he  says,  "  Whew!  "  an'  nen  leans  on 

His  old  crook-scythe,  and  blinks  his  eyes, 
An'  sniffs  all  'round  an'  says,  "  I  swawn ! 
Ef  my  old  nose  don't  tell  me  lies, 
It  'pears  like  I  smell  custard-pies ! " 

An'  nen  he  '//  say, 
.   "  Clear  out  o'  my  way ! 
They  's  time  fer  work,  an'  time  fer  play! 
Take  yer  dough,  an'  run,  child,  run! 
Er  she  cain't  git  no  cookin'  done ! " 


62  OUR  HIRED   GIRL 

Wunst  our  hired  girl,  when  she 
Got  the  supper,  an'  we  all  et, 
An'  it  wuz  night,  an'  Ma  an'  me 

An'  Pa  went  wher'  the  "  Social "  met, — 
An'  nen  when  we  come  home,  an'  see 
A  light  in  the  kitchen-door,  an'  we 

Heerd  a  maccordeun,  Pa  says,  "  Lan'- 
O'-Gracious!    who  can  her  beau  be?  " 
An'  I  marched  in,  an'  'Lizabuth  Ann 
Wuz  parchin'  corn  fer  the  Raggedy  Man! 

Better  say, 

"  Clear  out  o'  the  way! 
They  's  time  fer  work,  an'  time  fer  play! 
Take  the  hint,  an'  run,  child,  run! 
Er  we  cain't  git  no  courtin'  done! " 


THE    RAGGEDY    MAN 

O  THE  Raggedy  Man!      He  works  fer  Pa; 
An'  he  's  the  goodest  man  ever  you  saw! 
He  comes  to  our  house  every  day, 
An'  waters  the  horses,  an'  feeds  'em  hay ; 
An'  he  opens  the  shed — an'  we  all  ist  laugh 
When  he  drives  out  our  little  old  wobble-ly  calf ; 
An'  nen — ef  our  hired  girl  says  he  can — 
He  milks  the  cow  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann. — 
Ain't  he  a'  awful  good  Raggedy  Man? 
Raggedy!    Raggedy!    Raggedy  Man! 

W'y,  the  Raggedy  Man  —  he  's  ist  so  good, 
He  splits  the  kindlin'  an'  chops  the  wood ; 
An'  nen  he  spades  in  our  garden,  too, 
An'  does  most  things  'at  boys  can't  do. — 
He  clumbed  clean  up  in  our  big  tree 
An'  shocked  a'  apple  down  fer  me — 
An'  'nother  'n',  too,  fer  'Lizabuth  Ann — 
An'  'nother  'n',  too,  fer  the  Raggedy  Man. — 
Ain't  he  a'  awful  kind  Raggedy  Man? 
Raggedy!    Raggedy!    Raggedy  Man! 

9  63 


THE  RAGGEDY  MAN 


An'  the  Raggedy  Man,  he  knows  most  rhymes, 
An'  tells  'em,  ef  I  be  good,  sometimes : 
Knows  'bout  Giunts,  an'  Griffuns,  an'  Elves, 
An'  the  Squidgicum-Squees  'at  swallers  themselves! 
An',  wite  by  the  pump  in  our  pasture-lot, 
He  showed  me  the  hole  'at  the  Wunks  is  got, 
'At  lives  'way  deep  in  the  ground,  an'  can 
Turn  into  me,  er  'Lizabuth  Ann! 

Ain't  he  a  funny  old  Raggedy  Man? 
Raggedy!    Raggedy!    Raggedy  Man! 


THE  RAGGEDY  MAN  ( 

The  Raggedy  Man  —  one  time,  when  he 
Wuz  makin'  a  little  bow'-n'-orry  fer  me, 
Says,  "  When  you  're  big  like  your  Pa  is, 
Kir  you  go'  to  keep  a  fine  store  like  his — 
An'  be  a  rich  merchunt — an'  wear  fine  clothes  ?- 
Er  what  air  you  go'  to  be,  goodness  knows?  " 
An'  nen  he  laughed  at  'Lizabuth  Ann, 
An'  I  says,  "  'M  go'  to  be  a  Raggedy  Man!  — 
I  'm  ist  go'  to  be  a  nice  Raggedy  Man!  " 
Raggedy!    Raggedy!    Raggedy  Man! 


COIN'  TO   THE   FAIR 

(OLD  STYLE) 

WHEN  Me  an'  my  Ma  an'  Pa  went  to  the  Fair, 
Ma  borried  Mizz  Rollins-uz  rigg  to  go  there, 
'Cause  our  buggy  's  new,  an'  Ma  says,  "  Mercy-sake ! 
It  would  n't  hold  half  the  folks  she  's  go'  to  take !  " 
An'  she  took  Marindy,  an'  Jane's  twins,  an'  Jo, 
An'  Aunty  Van  Meters-uz  girls  —  an' old  Slo' 
Magee,  'at  's  so  fat,  come  a-scrougin'  in  there, 
When  me  an'  my  Ma  an'  Pa  went  to  the  Fair ! 

The  road  's  full  o'  loads-full  'ist  ready  to  bust, 
An'  all  hot,  an'  smokin'  an'  chokin'  with  dust; 
The  Wolffs  an'  their  wagon,  an'  Brizen tines,  too  — 
An'  horses  'ist  r'ared  when  the  toot-cars  come  through ! 
An'  'way  from  fur  off  we  could  hear  the  band  play, 
An'  peoples  all  there  'u'd  'ist  whoop  an'  hooray ! 
An'  I  stood  on  the  dash-board,  an'  Pa  boost  me  there 
'Most  high  as  the  fence,  when  we  went  to  the  Fair! 

66 


COIN'    TO    THE  FAIR  67 

An'  when  we  'uz  there  an'  inside,  we  could  see 
Wher'  the  flag  's  on  a  pole  wher'  a  show  's  go'  to  be ; 
An'  boys  up  in  trees,  an'  the  grea'-big  balloon 
'At  did  n't  goned  up  a-tall,  all  afternoon! 
An'  a  man  in  the  crowd  there  gived  money  away  — 
An'  Pa  says  "  he  'd  ruther  earn  his  by  the  day ! " — 
An'  he  gim-me  some,  an'  says  "  ain't  nothin'  there 
Too  good  fer  his  boy,"  when  we  went  to  the  Fair! 

Wisht  the  Raggedy  Man  wuz  there,  too !  —  but  he 

says, 
:  Don't   talk   fairs  to  me,  child !     I  went   to   one ;  — 

yes,— 

An'  they  wuz  a  swing  there  ye  rode  —  an'  I  rode, 
An'  a  thing-um-a-jing  'at  ye  blowed  —  an'  I  blowed ; 
An'  they  wuz  a  game  'at  ye  played  —  an'  I  played, 
An'  a  hitch  in  the  same  wher'  ye  paid  —  an'  I  paid ; 
An'  they  wuz  two  bad  to  one  good  peoples  there  — 
Like  you  an'  your  Pa  an'  Ma  went  to  the  Fair !  " 


GLADNESS 

MY  ole  man  named  Silas:  he 
Dead  long  'fo'  ole  Gin'l  Lee 
S'rendah,  whense  de  wah  wuz  done. 
Yanks  dey  tuk  de  plantation  — 
Mos'  high-handed  evah  you  see!  — 
Das  rack  roun',  an'  fiah  an'  bu'n, 
An'  jab  de  beds  wid  deir  bay'net-gun, 
An'  sweah  we  niggahs  all  scotch-free, — 
An'  Massah  John  C.  Pemberton 
Das  tuk  an'  run ! 

"  Gord  Armighty,  marm,"    he  'low, 

"  He'p  you  an'  de  chillen  now !  " 
Blaze  crack  out  'n  de  roof  inside 
Tel  de  big  house  all  das  charified ! 
Smoke  roll  out  'n  de  ole  hay-mow 
An'  de  wa'house  do' — an'  de  fiah  das  roah 

68 


GLADNESS  69 

An'  all  dat  'backer,  'bout  half  dried, 
Hit  smell  das  fried! 


Nelse,  my  ol'est  boy,  an'  John, — 
Atter  de  baby  das  wuz  bo'n, 
Erlongse  dem  times,  an'  lak  ter  'a'  died, 
An'  Silas  he  be'n  slip  an'  gone 
'Bout  eight  weeks  ter  de  Union  side, — 
Dem  two  boys  dey  start  fo'  ter  fine 
An'  jine  deir  fader  acrost  de  line. 
Ovahseeah  he  wade  an'  tromp 
Eveh-which-way  fo'  to  track  'em  down  — 
Sic  de  bloodhoun'  fro'  de  swamp  — 
An'  bring  de  news  dat  John  he  drown'  — 
But  dey  save  de  houn' ! 

Someway  ner  Nelse  git  fro' 
An'  fight  fo'  de  ole  Red,  White,  an'  Blue, 
Lak  his  fader  is,  ter  er  heart's  delight — 
An'  nen  crope  back  wid  de  news,  one  night  — 
Sayes,  "  Fader  's  killed  in  a  scrimmage-fight, 
An'  saunt  farewell  ter  ye  all,  an'  sayes 
Fo'  ter  name  de  baby  '  Gladness,'  'caze 


j  GLADNESS 

Mighty  nigh  she  'uz  be'n  borned  free  ! " 
An'  de  boy  he  smile  so  strange  at  me 
I  sayes,  "  Yo'  's  hurt  yo'se'ff  "   an'  he 
Sayes,  "  I 's  killed,  too  —  an'  dat  's  all  else !  " 
An'  dah  lay  Nelse  ! 

Hope  an'  Angrish,  de  twins,  be'n  sole 
'Fo'  dey  mo'  'n  twelve  year  ole: 
An'   Mary  Magdaline  sole  too. 
An'  dah  I 's  lef,  wid  Knox-Andrew, 
An'  Lily,  an'  Maje,  an'  Margaret, 
An'  little  gal-babe,  'at  's  borned  dat  new 
She  scaisely  ole  fo'  ter  be  named  yet  — 
Less  'n  de  name  'at  Si  say  to  — 
An'  co'se  hit  do. 

An'  I  taken  dem  chillen,  evah  one 
(An'  a-oh  my  Mastah's  will  be  done!), 
An'  I  break  fo'  de  Norf,  whah  dey  all  raised  free 
(An'  a-oh  good  Mastah,  come  git  me !). 
Knox-Andrew,  on  de  day  he  died, 
Lef  his  fambly  er  shop  an'  er  lot  berside; 
An'  Maje  die  ownin'  er  team  —  an'  he 
Lef  all  ter  me. 


GLADNESS 

Lily  she  work  at  de  Gran'  Hotel  — 
(Mastah!  Mastah  !  take  me  —  do!)  — 
An'  Lily  she  ain'  married  well: 
He  stob  a  man  —  an'  she  die  too; 
An'  Margaret  she  too  full  er  pride 
Ter  own  her  kin  tel  er  day  she  died! 
But  Gladness! — 't  ain'  soun'  sho'-nuff  true, — 
But  she  teached  school !  —  an'  er  white  folks, 
Ruspec'  dat  gal  'mos'  high  ez  I  do !  — 
'Gaze  she  'uz  de  bes'  an  de  mos'  high  bred  — 
De  las'  chile  bo'n,  an'  de  las'  chile  dead, 
O'  all  ten  head  ! 


Gladness!  Gladness!  a-oh  my  chile! 
Wa'm  my  soul  in  yo'  sweet  smile! 
Daughter  o'  Silas  !  o-rise  an'  sing 
Tel  er  heart-beat  pat  lak  er  pigeon -wing ! 
Sayes,  O  Gladness !  wake  dem  eyes  — 
Sayes,  a-HP  dem  folded  han's,  an'  rise  — 
Sayes,  a-coax  me  erlong  ter  Paradise, 
An'  a-hail  de  King, 
O  Gladness! 


10 


FESSLER'S   BEES 

"  TALKIN'  'bout  yer  bees,"  says  Ike, 
Speakin'  slow  and  ser'ous-like, 

"  D'  ever  tell  you  'bout  old  'Bee' — 
Old  'Bee'  Fessler?"  Ike  says-he! 

"  Might  call  him  a  bee-expert, 
When  it  come  to  handlin'  bees, — 
Roll  the  sleeves  up  of  his  shirt 
And  wade  in  amongst  the  trees 
Where  a  swarm  'u'd  settle,  and  — 
Blamedest  man  on  top  of  dirt !  — 
Rake  'em  with  his  naked  hand 
Right  back  in  the  hive  ag'in, 
Jes'  as  easy  as  you  please ! 
Nary  bee  'at  split  the  breeze 
Ever  jabbed  a  stinger  in 
Old  '  Bee  '  Fessler  — jes'  in  fun, 
Er  in  air  nest — nary  one!  — 
Could  n't  agg  one  on  to,  nuther, 
Ary  one  way  er  the  other! 


FESSLER' S  BEES  73 

"  Old  '  Bee  '  Fessler,"  Ike  says-he, 
"  Made  'a  speshyality 

Jes'  o'  bees;  and  built  a  shed  — 

Len'th  about  a  half  a  mild! 

Had  about  a  thousand  head 

O'  hives,  I  reckon  —  tame  and  wild ! 

Durndest  buzzin'  ever  wuz  — 

Wuss  'n  telegraph-poles  does 

When  they  're  sockin'  home  the  news 

Tight  as  they  kin  let  'er  loose! 

Visitors  rag  out  and  come 

Clean  from  town  to  hear  'em  hum, 

And  stop  at  the  kivered  bridge; 

But  wuz  some  'u'd  cross  the  ridge 

Allus,  and  go  clos'ter  —  so  's 

They  could  see  'em  hum,  I  s'pose ! 

Teared-like  strangers  down  that  track 

Allus  met  folks  comin'  back 

Lookin'  extry  fat  and  hearty 

Fer  a  city  picnic  party ! 


"  'Fore  he  went  to  Floridy, 
Old  'Bee'  Fessler,"  Ike  says-he 


74 


FESSLER'S  BEES 

"  Old  '  Bee '  Fessler  could  n't  bide 
Childern  on  his  place,"  says  Ike. 

"  Yit,  fer  all,  they  'd  climb  inside 
And  tromp  round  there,  keerless-like, 
In  their  bare  feet.     '  Bee '  could  tell 
Ev'ry  town-boy  by  his  yell  — 
So  's  'at  when  they  bounced  the  fence, 
Did  n't  make  no  difference! 
He  'd  jes'  git  down  on  one  knee 
In  the  grass  and  pat  the  bee !  — 
And,  ef  't  'ad  n't  stayed  stuck  in, 
Fess'  'u'd  set  the  sting  ag'in, 
'N'  potter  off,  and  wait  around 
Fer  the  old  famillyer  sound. 
Allus  boys  there,  more  er  less, 
Scootin'  round  the  premises ! 
When  the  buckwheat  wuz  in  bloom, 
Lawzy !  how  them  bees  'u'd  boom 
Round  the  boys  'at  crossed  that  way 
Fer  the  crick  on  Saturday ! 
Never  seemed  to  me  su'prisin' 
'At  the  sting  o'  bees  'uz  p'izin! 

"'Fore  he  went  to  Floridy," 
Ike  says,  "nothin'  'bout  a  bee 


FESSLER' S  BEES  75 

'At  old  Fessler  did  n't  know, — 
W'y,  it  jes'  'peared-like  'at  he 
Knowed  their  language,  high  and  low : 
Claimed  he  told  jes'  by  their  buzz 
What  their  wants  and  wishes  wuz! 
Peek  in  them-air  little  holes 
Round  the  porches  o'  the  hive  — 
Drat  their  pesky  little  souls !  — 
Could  'a'  skinned  the  man  alive! 
Bore  right  in  there  with  his  thumb, 
And  squat  down  and  scrape  the  gum 
Outen  ev'ry  hole,  and  blow 
'N'    bresh    the    crumbs    off,    don't     you 

know ! 

Take  the  roof  off,  and  slide  back 
Them-air  glass  concerns  they  pack 
Full  o'  honey,  and  jes'  lean 
'N'  grabble  'mongst  'em  fer  the  queen! 
Fetch  her  out  and  show  you  to  her  — 
Jes',  you  might  say,  interview  her  ! 

"Year  er  two,"  says  Ike,  says-he, 
"'Fore  he  went  to  Floridy, 

Fessler  struck  the  theory, 

Honey  was  the  same  as  love  — 


76  FESSLER'S  BEES 

You  could  make  it  day  and  night : 
Said  them  bees  o'  his  could  be 
Got  jes'  twic't  the  work  out  of 
Ef  a  feller  managed  right. 
He  contended  ef  bees  found 
blossoms  all  the  year  around, 
He  could  git  'em  down  at  once 
To  work  all  the  winter  months 
Same  as  summer.     So,  one  fall, 
When  their  summer's  work  wuz  done, 
1  Bee '  turns  in  and  robs  'em  all ; 
Loads  the  hives  then,  one  by  one, 
On  the  cyars,  and  'lowed  he  'd  see 
Ef  bees  loafed  in  Floridy  ! 
Said  he  bet  he'd  know  the  reason 
Ef  his  did  n't  work  that  season ! 


"  And,"  says  Ike,  "  it  's  jes',"  says-he, 
"  Like  old  Fessler  says  to  me  : 
'Any  man  kin  fool  a  bee, 
Git  him  down  in  Floridy ! ' 
'Feared  at  fust,  as  old  'Bee'  said, 
Fer  to  kind  o'  turn  their  head 


FESS LEX'S  BEES 

Fer  a  spell;  but,  bless  you!  they 
Did  n't  lose  a  half  a  day 
Altogether!  —  Jes'  lit  in 
Them-air  tropics,  and  them-air 
Cacktusses  a-ripen-nin', 
'N'  magnolyers,   and  sweet-peas, 
5N'  'simmon  and  pineapple  trees, 
'N'  ripe  bananners,  here  and  there, 
'N'  dates  a-danglin'  in  the  breeze, 
5N'  figs  and  reezins  ev'rywhere, 
All  waitin'  jes'  fer  Fessler's  bees! 
'N'  Fessler's  bees,  with  gaumy  wings, 
A-gittin'  down  and  whoopirf  things!  — 
Fessler  kind  o'  overseein' 
'Em,  and  sort  o'  '  hee-o-heeit?  / ' 

"  'Fore  he  went  to  Floridy, 
Old  'Bee'  Fessler,"  Ike  says-he, 

"  Wuz  n't  counted,  jes'  to  say, 
Mean  er  or'n'ry  anyway; 
On'y  ev'ry  'tarnel  dime 
'At  'u'd  pass  him  on  the  road 
He  'd  ketch  up  with,  ev'ry  time ; 
And  no  mortal  ever  knowed 


77 


78  FESSLER'S  BEES 

Him  to  spend  a  copper  cent  — 
'Less  on  some  fool- speriment 
With  them  bees  —  like  that-un  he 
Played  on  'em  in  Floridy. 
Fess',  of  course,  he  tuck  his  ease, 
But  't  wuz  bilious  on  the  bees! 
Sweat,  you  know,  'u'd  jes'  stand  out 
On  their  forreds  —  pant  and  groan, 
And  grunt  round  and  limp  about!  — 
And  old  '  Bee,'  o'  course,  a-knowin' 
'T  wuz  n't  no  fair  shake  to  play 
On  them  pore  dumb  insecks,  ner 
To  abuse  'em  thataway. 
Bees  has  rights,  I  'm  here  to  say, 
And  that  's  all  they  ast  him  fer! 
Man  as  mean  as  that,  jes'  'pears, 
Could  'a'  worked  bees  on  the  sheers  ! 
Cleared  big  money  —  well,  I  guess, 
'  Bee '  shipped  honey,  more  er  less, 
Into  ev'ry  state,  perhaps, 
Ever  putt  down  in  the  maps! 

"  But  by  time  he  fetched  'em  back 
In  the  spring  ag'in,"  says  Ike, 


FESSLER'S  BEES 

"  They  wuz  actin'  s'picious-like : 
Though  they  'peared  to  lost  the  track 
O'  ev'rything  they  saw  er  heard, 
They  'd  lay  round  the  porch,  and  gap' 
At  their  shadders  in  the  sun, 
Do-less  like,  ontel  some  bird 
Suddently  'u'd  mayby  drap 
In  a  bloomin'  churry-tree, 
Twitterin'  a  tune  'at  run 
In  their  minds  familiously ! 
They'd  revive  up,  kind  o',  then, 
Like  they  argied :  '  Well,  it 's  be'n 
The  most  longest  summer  we 
Ever  saw  er  want  to  see! 
Must  be  right,  though,  er  old  '•Bee1 
'U'd  notify  us!'  they  says-ee; 
And  they'd  sort  o'  square  their  chin 
And  git  down  to  work  ag'in  — 
Moanin'  round  their  honey-makin', 
Kind  o'  like  their  head  was  achin'. 
Tetchin*  fer  to  see  how  they 
Trusted  Fessler  thataway — 
Him  a-lazin'  round,  and  smirkin' 

To  hisse'f  to  see  'em  workin' ! 
11 


79 


8o  FESSLER'S  BEES 

"  But  old  '  Bee,' "  says  Ike,  says-he, — 
"  Now  where  is  he  ?   Where  's  he  gone  ? 
Where's  the  head  he  helt  so  free? 
Where's  his  pride  and  vanity? 
What's  his  hopes  a-restin'  on?  — 
Never  knowed  a  man,"  says  Ike, 
"Take  advantage  of  a  bee, 
'At  affliction  didn't  strike 
Round  in  that  vicinity! 
Sinners  allus  suffers  some, 
And  old  Fessler's  reck'nin'  come! 
That-air  man  to-day  is  jes' 
Like  the  grass  'at  Scriptur'  says 
Cometh  up,  and  then  turns  in 
And  jes'  gits  cut  down  ag'in! 
Old  'Bee'  Fessler,"  Ike  says-he, 
"Says,  last  fall,  says  he  to  me  — 
'Ike,'  says  he,  'them  bees  has  jes' 
Ciphered  out  my  or'n'riness! 
Nary  bee  in  ary  swarm 
On  the  whole  endurin'  farm 
Won't  have  nothin'  more  to  do 
With  a  man  as  mean  as  I  've 
Be'n  to  them,  last  year  er  two! 


FESSLER'S  BEES  8 1 

Nary  bee  in  ary  hive 
But  '11  turn  his  face  away, 
Like  they  ort,  whenever  they 
Hear  my  footprints  drawin'  nigh ! ' 
And  old  '  Bee,'  he  'd  sort  o'  shy 
Round  oneasy  in  his  cheer, 
Wipe  his  eyes,  and  yit  the  sap, 
Spite  o'  all,  Vd  haf  to  drap, 
As  he  wound  up:    'Would  n't  keer 
Quite  so  much  ef  they  'd  jes'  light 
In  and  settle  things  up  right, 
Like  they  ort;  but  —  blame  the  thing!  — 
Tears-like  they  won't  even  sting  f 
Pepper  me,  the  way  I  felt, 
And  I  'd  thank  'em,  ev'ry  welt ! ' 
And  as  miz'able  and  mean 
As  '  Bee '  looked,  ef  you  'd  'a'  seen 
Them-air  hungry  eyes,"  says  Ike, 
"You  'd  fergive  him,  more  'n  like. 

"Wisht  you  had  'a'  knowed  old  'Bee' 
'Fore  he  went  to  Floridy ! " 


A   LIFE   TERM 

SHE  was  false,  and  he  was  true, — 
Thus  their  lives  were  rent  apart; 

'T  was  his  dagger  driven  through 
A  mad  rival's  heart. 

He  was  shut  away.     The  moon 
May  not  find  him ;  nor  the  stars  • 

Nay,  nor  yet  the  sun  of  noon 
Pierce  his  prison  bars. 

She  was  left — again  to  sin — 
Mistress  of  all  siren  arts: 

The  poor,  soulless  heroine 
Of  a  hundred  hearts ! 
82 


A   LIFE    TERM 

Though  she  dare  not  think  of  him 
Who  believed  her  lies,  and  so 

Sent  a  ghost  adown  the  dim 
Path  she  dreads  to  go, — 

He,  in  fancy,  smiling,  sips 

Of  her  kisses,  purer  yet 
Than  the  dew  upon  the  lips 

Of  the  violet. 


"THE    LITTLE    MAN    IN    THE   TINSHOP " 

WHEN  I  was  a  little  boy,  long  ago, 

And  spoke  of  the  theatre  as  "  the  show," 

The  first  one  that  I  went  to  see, 

Mother's  brother  it  was  took  me — 

(My  uncle,  of  course,  though  he  seemed  to  be 

Only  a  boy — I  loved  him  so! ) 


"THE  LITTLE  MAN  IN  THE  TIN  SHOP"     8 

And  ah,  how  pleasant  he  made  it  all! 

And  the  things  he  knew  that  /  should  know !  — 

The  stage,  the  "  drop,"  and  the  frescoed  wall ; 

The  sudden  flash  of  the  lights';   and  oh, 

The  orchestra,  with  its  melody, 

And  the  lilt  and  jingle  and  jubilee 

Of  "The  Little  Man  in  the  Tinshop"! 


For  Uncle  showed  me  "  The  Leader  "  there, 
With  his  pale,  bleak  forehead  and  long,  black  hair ; 
Showed  me  the  "  Second,"  and  "  'Cello,"  and  "  Bass,'' 
And  the  "  B-Flat,"  pouting  and  puffing  his  face 
At  the  little  end  of  the  horn  he  blew 
Silvery  bubbles  of  music  through ; 


86     "THE  LITTLE  MAN  IN  THE   TIN  SHOP" 

And  he  coined  me  names  of  them,  each  in  turn, 
Some  comical  name  that  I  laughed  to  learn, 
Clean  on  down  to  the  last  and  best, — 
The  lively  little  man,  never  at  rest, 
Who  hides  away  at  the  end  of  the  string, 
And  tinkers  and  plays  on  everything. — 

That  's  "  The  Little  Man  in  the  Tinshop  " ! 


Raking  a  drum  like  a  rattle  of  hail, 
Clinking  a  cymbal  or  Castanet ; 
Chirping  a  twitter  or  sending  a  wail 
Through  a  piccolo  that  thrills  me  yet ; 
Reeling  ripples  of  riotous  bells, 
And  tipsy  tinkles  of  triangles — 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  IN  THE   TIN  SHOP 


Wrangled  and  tangled  in  skeins  of  sound 
Till  it  seemed  that  my  very  soul  spun  round, 
As  I  leaned,  in  a  breathless  joy,  toward  my 
Radiant  uncle,  who  snapped  his  eye 
And  said,  with  the  courtliest  wave  of  his  hand, 
"  Why,  that  little  master  of  all  the  band 

Is  The  Little  Man  in  the  Tinshop  ! 


12 


88     "THE  LITTLE  MAN  IN  THE  TIN  SHOP' 

"  And  I  've  heard  Verdi,  the  Wonderful, 
And  Paganini,  and  Ole  Bull, 
Mozart,  Handel,  and  Mendelssohn, 
And  fair  Parepa,  whose  matchless  tone 
Karl,  her  master,  with  magic  bow, 
Blent  with  the  angels',  and  held  her  so 


Tranced  till  the  rapturous  Infinite — 
And  I  've  heard  arias,  faint  and  low, 
From  many  an  operatic  light 
Glimmering  on  my  swimming  sight 
Dimmer  and  dimmer,  until,  at  last, 
I  still  sit,  holding  my  roses  fast 

For  The  Little  Man  in  the  Tinshop." 


1  THE  LITTLE  MAN  IN  THE   TIN  SHOP  " 


89 


Oho!  my  Little  Man,  joy  to  you — 

And  yours — and  theirs — your  lifetime  through! 

Though  /  *ve  heard  melodies,  boy  and  man, 

Since  first  "  the  show  "  of  my  life  began, 

Never  yet  have  I  listened  to 

Sadder,  madder,  or  gladder  glees 

Than  your  unharmonied  harmonies ; 


9° 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  IN  THE   TIN  SHOP" 

For  yours  is  the  music  that  appeals 
To  all  the  fervor  the  boy's  heart  feels — 
All  his  glories,  his  wildest  cheers, 
His  bravest  hopes,  and  his  brightest  tears  ; 
And  so,  with  his  first  bouquet,  he  kneels 
To  "  The  Little  Man  in  the  Tinshop." 


FROM   A   BALLOON 

Ho !  we  are  loose.     Hear  how  they  shout, 

And  how  their  clamor  dwindles  out 

Beneath  us  to  the  merest  hum 

Of  earthly  acclamation.     Come, 

Lean  with  me  here  and  look  below  — 

Why,  bless  you,  man!  don't  tremble  so! 

There  is  no  need  of  fear  up  here  — 

Not  higher  than  the  buzzard  swings 

About  upon  the  atmosphere, 

With  drowsy  eyes  and  open  wings! 

There,  steady,  now,  and  feast  your  eyes;  — 

See,  we  are  tranced  —  we  do  not  rise; 

It  is  the  earth  that  sinks  from  us : 

But  when  I  first  beheld  it  thus, 

And  felt  the  breezes  downward  flow, 

And  heard  all  noises  fail  and  die, 

Until  but  silence  and  the  sky 

Above,  around  me,  and  below, — 

Why,  like  you  now,  I  swooned  almost, 

With  mingled  awe  and  fear  and  glee  — 

As  giddy  as  an  hour-old  ghost 

That  stares  into  eternity. 


"TRADIN1  JOE" 

I  'M  one  o'  these  cur'ous  kind  o'  chaps 

You  think  you  know  when  you  don't,  perhaps! 

I  hain't  no  fool — ner  I  don't  p'tend 

To  be  so  smart  I  could  rickommend 

Myself  fer  a  congerssman,  my  friend !  — 

But  I  'm  kind  o'  betwixt-and-between,  you  know, — 

One  o'  these  fellers  'at  folks  calls  "  slow." 

And  I  '11  say  jest  here  I  'm  kind  o'  queer 

Regardin'  things  'at  I  see  and  hear, — 

Fer  I  'm  thick  o'  hearin'  sometimes,  and 

It 's  hard  to  git  me  to  understand ; 

But  other  times  it  hain't,  you  bet! 

Fer  I  don't  sleep  with  both  eyes  shet! 

I  've  swopped  a  power  in  stock,  and  so 
The  rieighbers  calls  me  "  Tradin'  Joe  " — 
And  I  'm  goin'  to  tell  you  'bout  a  trade, — 
And  one  o'  the  best  I  ever  made : 

Folks  has  gone  so  fur  's  to  say 
'At  I  'm  well  fixed,  in  a  worldly  way, 
92 


"TRADIN'  JOE"  93 

And  beirf  so,  and  a  widower, 

It  's  not  su'prisin',  as  you  '11  infer, 

I  'm  purty  handy  among  the  sect — 

Widders  especially,  rickollect! 

And  I  won't  deny  that  along  o'  late 

I  've  hankered  a  heap  fer  the  married  state — 

But  some  way  o'  'nother  the  longer  we  wait 

The  harder  it  is  to  discover  a  mate. 


Marshall  Thomas, — a  friend  o'  mine, 

Doin'  some  in  the  tradin'  line, 

But  a'most  too  young  to  know  it  all  — 

On'y  at  picnics  er  some  ball! — 

Says  to  me,  in  a  banterin'  way, 

As  we  was  a-loadin'  stock  one  day, — 
''  You  're  a-huntin'  a  wife,  and  I  want  you  to  see 

My  girl's  mother,  at  Kankakee !  — 

She  hain't  over  forty — good-lookin'  and  spry, 

And  jest  the  woman  to  fill  your  eye! 

And  I  'm  a-goin'  there  Sund'y, —  and  now,"  says  he, 
;  I  want  to  take  you  along  with  me; 

And  you  marry  her,  and,"  he  says,  "by  'shaw! 

You  '11  hev  me  fer  yer  son-in-law! " 


94  "TRADIN'  JOE" 

I  studied  a  while,  and  says  I,  "  Well,  I  '11 
First  have  to  see  ef  she  suits  my  style ; 
And  ef  she  does,  you  kin  bet  your  life 
Your  mother-in-law  will  be  my  wife!  " 


Well,  Sund'y  come ;  and  I  fixed  up  some — 

Putt  on  a  collar — I  did,  by  gum!  — 

Got  down  my  "plug,"  and  my  satin  vest — 

(You  would  n't  know  me  to  see  me  dressed!  — 

But  any  one  knows  ef  you  got  the  clothes 

You  kin  go  in  the  crowd  wher'  the  best  of  'em  goes ! ) 

And  I  greeced  my  boots,  and  combed  my  hair 

Keerfully  over  the  bald  place  there ; 

And  Marshall  Thomas  and  me  that  day 

Eat  our  dinners  with  Widder  Gray 

And  her  girl  Han' !    *  *  * 

Weil,  jest  a  glance 
O'  the  widder's  smilin'  countenance, 
A-cuttin'  up  chicken  and  big  pot-pies, 
Would  make  a  man  hungry  in  Paradise! 
And  passin'  p'serves  and  jelly  and  cake 
'At  would  make  an  angel's  appetite  ache  f — 


"TRADIN'  JOE" 

Pourin'  out  coffee  as  yaller  as  gold — 
Twic't  as  much  as  the  cup  could  hold — 
La!  it  was  rich!  —  And  then  she  'd  say, 
"Take  some  o"  this!  "  in  her  coaxin'  way, 
Tel  ef  I  'd  been  a  hoss  I  'd  ^.-foundered,  shore, 
And  jest  dropped  dead  on  her  white-oak  floor! 

Well,  the  way  I  talked  would  a-done  you  good, 
Ef  you  'd  a-been  there  to  a-understood ; . 
Tel  I  noticed  Hanner  and  Marshall,  they 
Was  a-noticin'  me  in  a  cur'ous  way ; 
So  I  says  to  myse'f,  says  I,  "  Now,  Joe, 
The  best  thing  fer  you  is  to  jest  go  slow! " 
And  I  simmered  down,  and  let  them  do 
The  bulk  o'  the  talkin'  the  evening  through. 

And  Marshall  was  still  in  a  talkative  gait 
When  we  left,  that  evening — tollable  late. 

"  How  do  you  like  her?  "  he  says  to  me ; 
Says  I,  "She  suits,  to  a  't-y-Tee'  !" 
And  then  I  ast  how  matters  stood 
With  him  in  the  opposite  neighberhood? 

"Bully! "  he  says ;   "  I  ruther  guess 
I  '11  finally  git  her  to  say  the  '  yes.' 

13 


96  "TRADIN'  JOE" 

I  named  it  to  her  to-night,  and  she 
Kind  o'  smiled,  and  said  '  she  'd  see ' — 
And  that  's  a  purty  good  sign ! "  says  he : 
"Yes,"  says  I,  "you  're  ahead  o'  me/" 
And  then  he  laughed,  and  said,  "Go  in!  " 
And  patted  me  on  the  shoulder  ag'in. 

Well,  ever  sence  then  I  've  been  ridin'  a  good 
Deal  through  the  Kankakee  neighberhood  ; 
And  I  make  it  convenient  sometimes  to  stop 
And  hitch  a  few  minutes,  and  kind  o'  drop 
In  at  the  widder's,  and  talk  o'  the  crop 
And  one  thing  o'  'nother.     And  week  afore  last 
The  notion  struck  me,  as  I  drove  past, 
I  'd  stop  at  the  place  and  state  my  case  — 
Might  as  well  do  it  at  first  as  last! 

I  felt  first-rate ;  so  I  hitched  at  the  gate, 
And  went  up  to  the  house ;  and,  strange  to  relate, 
Marshall  Thomas  had  dropped  in,  too. — 
"  Glad  to  see  you,  sir,  how  do  you  do  ?  " 
He  says,  says  he!      Well — it  sounded  queer; 
And  when  Han'  told  me  to  take  a  cheer, 


"TRADW  JOE"  97 

Marshall  got  up  and  putt  out  o'  the  room  — 
And  motioned  his  hand  fer  the  widder  to  come. 
I  did  n't  say  nothin'  fer  quite  a  spell, 
But  thinks  I  to  myse'f,  "  Ther'  's  a  dog  in  the  well!  " 
And  Han'  she  smiled  so  cur'ous  at  me — 
Says  I,  "  What  's  up?  "     And  she  says,  says  she, 
"  Marshall  's  been  at  me  to  marry  ag'in, 
And  I  told  him  '  no,'  jest  as  you  come  in." 
Well,  sumepin'  o'  'nother  in  that  girl's  voice 
Says  to  me,  "Joseph,  here  's  your  choice!" 
And  another  minute  her  guileless  breast 
Was  lovin'ly  throbbin'  ag'in  my  vest !  — 
And  then  I  kissed  her,  and  heerd  a  smack 
Come  like  a'  echo  a-flutterin'  back, 
And  we  looked  around,  and  in  full  view 
Marshall  was  kissin'  the  widder  too! 
Well,  we  all  of  us  laughed,  in  our  glad  su'prise, 
Tel  the  tears  come  a-streamiri  out  of  our  eyes! 
And  when  Marsh  said  "  'T  was  the  squarest  trade 
That  ever  me  and  him  had  made," 
We  both  shuck  hands,  'y  jucks !  and  swore 
We  'd  stick  together  ferevermore. 
And  old  'Squire  Chipman  tuck  us  the  trip : 
And  Marshall  and  me  's  in  pardnership! 


UNCLE  WILLIAM'S  PICTURE 

UNCLE  WILLIAM,  last  July, 

Had  his  picture  took. 
"  Have  it  done,  of  course,"  says  I, 
"  Jes'  the  way  you  look !  " 
(All  dressed  up,  he  was,  fer  the 
Barbecue  and  jubilee 
The  old  settlers  helt.)     So  he  — 

Last  he  had  it  took. 

Lide  she  'd  coaxed  and  begged  and  pled, 

Sence  her  mother  went ; 
But  he  'd  cough  and  shake  his  head 

At  all  argyment; 
Mebby  clear  his  th'oat  and  say, 
"  What  's  my  likeness  'mount  to,  hey, 
Now  with  Mother  gone  away 

From  us,  like  she  went?" 

But  we  projicked  round,  tel  we 
Got  it  figgered  down 


UNCLE    WILLIAM'S  PICTURE 

How  we  'd  git  him,  Lide  and  me, 

Drivin'  into  town; 

Bragged  how  well  he  looked  and  fleshed 
Up  around  the  face,  and  freshed 
With  the  morning  air;  and  breshed 

His  coat-collar  down. 

All  so  providential!     W'y, 

Now  he  's  dead  and  gone, 
Picture  'pears  so  lifelike  I 

Want  to  start  him  on 
Them  old  tales  he  ust  to  tell, 
And  old  talks  so  sociable, 
And  old  songs  he  sung  so  well  — 

'Fore  his  voice  was  gone! 

Face  is  sad  to  Lide,  and  they  's 

Sorrow  in  the  eyes  — 
Kisses  it  sometimes,  and  lays 

It  away  and  cries. 
I  smooth  down  her  hair,  and  'low 
He  is  happy,  anyhow, 
Bein'  there  with  Mother  now, — 

Smile,  and  wipe  my  eyes. 


99 


THE    FISHING-PARTY 

WUNST  we  went  a-fishin' —  Me 
An'  my  Pa  an'  Ma,  all  three, 
When  they  wuz  a  picnic,  'way 
Out  to  Hanch's  Woods,  one  day. 

An'  they  wuz  a  crick  out  there, 
Where  the  fishes  is,  an'  where 
Little  boys  't  ain't  big  an'  strong 
Better  have  their  folks  along! 

My  Pa  he  ist  fished  an'  fished! 
An'  my  Ma  she  said  she  wished 
Me  an'  her  was  home ;  an'  Pa 
Said  he  wished  so  worse  'n  Ma. 

Pa  s.aid  ef  you  talk,  er  say 
Anything,  er  sneeze,  er  play, 
Hain't  no  fish,  alive  er  dead, 
Ever  go'  to  bite!    he  said. 


THE  FISHING-PARTY 

Purt'-nigh  dark  in  town  when  we 
Got  back  home ;   an'  Ma,  says  she, 
Now  she  '11  have  a  fish  fer  shore! 
An'  she  buyed  one  at  the  store. 

Nen  at  supper,  Pa  he  won't 
Eat  no  fish,  an'  says  he  don't 
Like  'em. — An'  he  pounded  me 
When  I  choked!    .  .  .  Ma,  did  n't  he? 


101 


SQUIRE    HAWKINS'S   STORY 

I  HAIN'T  no  hand  at  tellin'  tales, 

Er  spinnin'  yarns,  as  the  sailors  say ; 

Someway  o'  'nother,  language  fails 

To  slide  fer  me  in  the  oily  way 

That  lawyers  has ;  and  I  wisht  it  would, 

Fer  I  've  got  somepin'  that  I  call  good ; 

But  bein'  only  a  country  squire, 

I  've  learned  to  listen  and  admire, 

Ruther  preferrin'  to  be  addressed 

Than  talk  myse'f — but  I  '11  do  my  best:  — 

Old  Jeff  Thompson— well,  I  '11  say, 
Was  the  clos'test  man  I  ever  saw !  — 
Rich  as  cream,  but  the  porest  pay, 
And  the  meanest  man  to  work  fer — La! 
I  Ve  knowed  that  man  to  work  one  "hand  "• 
Fer  little  er  nothin',  you  understand — 
From  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  light 
Tel  eight  and  nine  o'clock  at  night, 
And  then  find  fault  with  his  appetite! 


SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY  103 

He  'd  drive  all  over  the  neighberhood 
To  miss  the  place  where  a  toll-gate  stood, 
And  slip  in  town,  by  some  old  road 
That  no  two  men  in  the  county  knowed, 
With  a  jag  o'  wood,  and  a  sack  o'  wheat, 
That  would  n't  burn  and  you  could  n't  eat! 
And  the  trades  he  'd  make,  '11  I  jest  de-clare, 
Was  enough  to  make  a  preacher  swear! 
And  then  he  'd  hitch,  and  hang  about 
Tel  the  lights  in  the  toll-gate  was  blowed  out, 
And  then  the  turnpike  he  'd  turn  in 
And  sneak  his  way  back  home  ag'in ! 


Some  folks  hint,  and  I  make  no  doubt, 
That  that  's  what  wore  his  old  wife  out — 
Toilin'  away  from  day  to  day 
And  year  to  year,  through  heat  and  cold, 
Uncomplainin' — the  same  old  way 
The  martyrs  died  in  the  days  of  old ; 
And  a-clingin',  too,  as  the  martyrs  done, 
To  one  fixed  faith,  and  her  only  one, — 
Little  Patience,  the  sweetest  child 
That  ever  wept  unrickonciled, 
u 


104  SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY 

Er  felt  the  pain  and  the  ache  and  sting 
That  only  a  mother's  death  can  bring. 

Patience  Thompson !  —  I  think  that  name 

Must  a-come  from  a  power  above, 

Fer  it  seemed  to  fit  her  jest  the  same 

As  a  gaiter  would,  er  a  fine  kid  glove ! 

And  to  see  that  girl,  with  all  the  care 

Of  the  household  on  her — I  de-clare 

It  was  oudacious,  the  work  she  'd  do, 

And  the  thousand  plans  that  she  'd  putt  through ; 

And  sing  like  a  medder-lark  all  day  long, 

And  drownd  her  cares  in  the  joys  o'  song ; 

And  laugh  sometimes  tel  the  farmer's  "  hand," 

Away  fur  off  in  the  fields,  would  stand 

A-listenin',  with  the  plow  half  drawn, 

Tel  the  coaxin'  echoes  called  him  on ; 

And  the  furries  seemed,  in  his  dreamy  eyes, 

Like  footpaths  a-leadin'  to  Paradise, 

As  off  through  the  hazy  atmosphere 

The  call  fer  dinner  reached  his  ear. 

Now  love  's  as  cunnin'  a  little  thing 
As  a  hummin'-bird  upon  the  wing, 


SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY 

And  as  liable  to  poke  his  nose 

Jest  where  folks  would  least  suppose, — 

And  more  'n  likely  build  his  nest 

Right  in  the  heart  you  'd  leave  unguessed, 

And  live  and  thrive  at  your  expense — 

At  least,  that  's  my  experience. 

And  old  Jeff  Thompson  often  thought, 

In  his  se'fish  way,  that  the  quiet  John 

Was  a  stiddy  chap,  as  a  farm-hand  ought 

To  always  be, — fer  the  airliest  dawn 

Found  John  busy  —  and  "easy"  too, 

Whenever  his  wages  would  fall  due !  — 

To  sum  him  up  with  a  final  touch, 

He  eat  so  little  and  worked  so  much, 

That  old  Jeff  laughed  to  hisse'f  and  said, 

He  makes  me  money  and  aims  his  bread! " 


But  John,  fer  all  of  his  quietude, 
Would  sometimes  drap  a  word  er  so 
That  none  but  Patience  understood, 
And  none  but  her  was  meant  to  know !  — 
Mayby  at  meal-times  John  would  say, 
As  the  sugar-bowl  come  down  his  way, 


106  SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY 

"  Thanky,  no ;  my  coffee  's  sweet 
Enough  fer  me!  "  with  sich  conceit, 
She  '</  know  at  once,  without  no  doubt, 
He  meant  because  she  poured  it  out ; 
And  smile  and  blush,  and  all  sich  stuff, 
And  ast  ef  it  was  "strong  enough?  " 
And  git  the  answer,  neat  and  trim, 

"  It  could  rit  be  too  '  strong '  fer  him!  " 

And  so  things  went  fer  'bout  a  year, 

Tel  John,  at  last,  found  pluck  to  go 

And  pour  his  tale  in  the  old  man's  ear — 

And  ef  it  had  been  hot  lead,  I  know 

It  could  n't  a-raised  a  louder  fuss, 

Ner  a-riled  the  old  man's  temper  wuss! 

He  jest  ///  in,  and  cussed  and  swore, 

And  lunged  and  rared,  and  ripped  and  tore, 

And  told  John  jest  to  leave  his  door, 

And  not  to  darken  it  no  more! 

But  Patience  cried,  with  eyes  all  wet, 

"  Remember,  John,  and  don't  ferget, 
Whatever  comes,  I  love  you  yet! " 
But  the  old  man  thought,  in  his  se'fish  way, 

"  I  '11  see  her  married  rich  some  day ; 


SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY  107 

And  that,'1  thinks  he,  "is  money  fer  me  — 
And  my  will  's  law,  as  it  ought  to  be! " 


So  when,  in  the  course  of  a  month  er  so, 
A  widower,  with  a  farm  er  two, 
Comes  to  Jeff's,  w'y,  the  folks,  you  know, 
Had  to  talk  —  as  the  folks  '11  do  : 
It  was  the  talk  of  the  neighberhood — 
Patience  and  John,  and  their  affairs ; — 
And  this  old  chap  with  a  few  gray  hairs 
Had  "  cut  John  out,"  it  was  understood. 
And  some  folks  reckoned  "  Patience,  too, 
Knowed  what  she  was  a-goin'  to  do — 
It  was  like  her — la!    indeed!  — 
All  she  loved  was  dollars  and  cents — 
Like  old  Jeff — and  they  saw  no  need 
Fer  John  to  pine  at  her  negligence ! " 

But  others  said,  in  a  kinder  way, 
They  missed  the  songs  she  used  to  sing — 
They  missed  the  smiles  that  used  to  play 
Over  her  face,  and  the  laughin'  ring 
Of  her  glad  voice — that  everything 


jo8  SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY 

Of  her  old  se'f  seemed  dead  and  gone, 
And  this  was  the  ghost  that  they  gazed  on! 

Tel  finally  it  was  noised  about 
There  was  a  weddirf  soon  to  be 
Down  at  Jeff's ;  and  the  "  cat  was  out " 
Shore  enough! — 'LI  the  Jee-mun-nee / 
It  riled  me  when  John  told  me  so, — 
Fer  I  was  a  friend  d1  John's,  you  know ; 
And  his  trimblin'  voice  jest  broke  in  two — 
As  a  feller's  voice  '11  sometimes  do. — 
And  I  says,  says  I,  "  Ef  I  know  my  biz — 
And  I  think  I  know  -whatjestice  is, —  | 

I  Ve  read  some  law — and  I  'd  advise 
A  man  like  you  to  wipe  his  eyes, 
And  square  his  jaws  and  start  ag'in, 
Ferjestice  is  a-goirf  to  win  !  " 
And  it  was  n't  long  tel  his  eyes  had  cleared 
As  blue  as  the  skies,  and  the  sun  appeared 
In  the  shape  of  a  good,  old-fashioned  smile 
That  I  had  n't  seen  fer  a  long,  long  while. 

So  we  talked  on  fer  a'  hour  er  more, 
And  sunned  ourselves  in  the  open  door, — 


SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S   STORY  109 

Tel  a  hoss-and-buggy  down  the  road 
Come  a-drivin'  up,  that  I  guess  John  knowed, — 
Fer  he  winked  and  says,  "  I  '11  dessappear — 
They  'd  smell  a  mice  ef  they  saw  me  here!  " 
And  he  thumbed  his  nose  at  the  old  gray  mare, 
And  hid  hisse'f  in  the  house  somewhere. 


Well. — The  rig  drove  up :  and  I  raised  my  head 

As  old  Jeff  hollered  to  me  and  said 

That  "  him  and  his  old  friend  there  had  come 

To  see  ef  the  squire  was  at  home." 

...  I  told  'em  "  I  was ;   and  I  aimed  to  be 

At  every  chance  of  a  weddin'-fee ! " 

And  then  I  laughed — and  they  laughed,  too, — 

Fer  that  was  the  object  they  had  in  view. 

Would  I  be  on  hands  at  eight  that  night?  " 

They  ast ;   and  's-I,  "  You  're  mighty  right, 

7 '//  be  on  hands!  "     And  then  I  bu'st 

Out  a-laughin'  my  very  wu'st, — 

And  so  did  they,  as  they  wheeled  away 

And  drove  to'rds  town  in  a  cloud  o'  dust. 

Then  I  shet  the  door,  and  me  and  John 

Laughed  and  laughed,  and  jest  laughed  on, 


HO  SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY 

Tel  Mother  drapped  her  specs,  and  by 
Jeewhillikers !  I  thought  she  'd  die! — 
And  she  could  n't  a-told,  I  '11  bet  my  hat, 
What  on  earth  she  was  laughin'  at! 

But  all  o'  the  fun  o'  the  tale  hain't  done !  — 
Fer  a  drizzlin'  rain  had  jest  begun, 
And  a-havin'  'bout  four  mile'  to  ride, 
I  jest  concluded  I  'd  better  light 
Out  fer  Jeff's  and  save  my  hide, — 
Fer  it  was  a-goiri1  to  storm,  that  night/ 
So  we  went  down  to  the  barn,  and  John 
Saddled  my  beast,  and  I  got  on ; 
And  he  told  me  somepin'  to  not  ferget, 
And  when  I  left,  he  was  laughin'  yet. 

And,  'proachin'  on  to  my  journey's  end, 
The  great  big  draps  o'  the  rain  come  down, 
And  the  thunder  growled  in  a  way  to  lend 
An  awful  look  to  the  lowerin'  frown 
The  dull  sky  wore ;   and  the  lightnin'  glanced 
Tel  my  old  mare  jest  more  'n  pranced, 
And  tossed  her  head,  and  bugged  her  eyes 
To  about  four  times  their  natchurl  size, 


SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY  tll 

As  the  big  black  lips  of  the  clouds  'ud  drap 
Out  some  oath  of  a  thunder-clap, 
And  threaten  on  in  an  undertone 
That  chilled  a  feller  clean  to  the  bone! 

But  I  struck  shelter  soon  enough 

To  save  myse'f.     And  the  house  was  jammed 

With  the  women-folks,  and  the  weddin'-stuff : — 

A  great,  long  table,  fairly  crammed 

With  big  pound-cakes — and  chops  and  steaks 

And  roasts  and  stews  —  and  stumick-aches 

Of  every  fashion,  form,  and  size, 

From  twisters  up  to  punkin-pies! 

And  candies,  oranges,  and  figs, 

And  reezins, —  all  the  "whilligigs" 

And  "  jim-cracks  "  that  the  law  allows 

On  sich  occasions !  —  Bobs  and  bows 

Of  gigglin'  girls,  with  corkscrew  curls, 

And  fancy  ribbons,  reds  and  blues, 

And  "  beau-ketchers  "  and  "curliques" 

To  beat  the  world!      And  seven  o'clock 

Brought  old  Jeff ;  —  and  brought — the  groom, — 

With  a  sideboard-collar  on,  and  stock 

That  choked  him  so,  he  had  n't  room 


SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY 

To  swaller  in,  er  even  sneeze, 

Er  clear  his  th'oat  with  any  ease 

Er  comfort  —  and  a  good  square  cough 

Would  saw  his  Adam's-apple  off  ! 


But  as  fer  Patience  —  My! 

I  never  saw  her  look  so  sweet!  — 

Her  face  was  cream  and  roses,  too  ; 

And  then  them  eyes  o'  heavenly  blue 

Jest  made  an  angel  all  complete! 

And  when  she  split  'em  up  in  smiles 

And  splintered  'em  around  the  room, 

And  danced  acrost  and  met  the  groom, 

And  laughed  out  loud  —  It  kind  o'  spiles 

My  language  when  I  come  to  that  — 

Fer,  as  she  laid  away  his  hat, 

Thinks  I,  "The  papers  hid  inside 

Of  that  said  hat  must  make  a  bride 

A  happy  one  fer  all  her  life, 

Er  else  a  wrecked  and  wretched  wife  !  " 

And,  someway,  then,  I  thought  of  John,  — 

Then  looked  to'rds  Patience.  .  .  .  She  was  gone.'- 

The  door  stood  open,  and  the  rain 

Was  dashin'  in  ;  and  sharp  and  plain 


SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY  113 

Above  the  storm  we  heerd  a  cry — 

A  ringin',  laughin',  loud  "Good-by!" 

That  died  away,  as  fleet  and  fast 

A  hoss's  hoofs  went  splashin'  past! 

And  that  was  all.     'T  was  done  that  quick!  .  .  . 

You  've  heerd  o'  fellers  "lookin'  sick"? 

I  wisht  you  'd  seen  the  groom  jest  then — 

I  wisht  you  'd  seen  them  two  old  men, 

With  starin'  eyes  that  fairly  glared 

At  one  another,  and  the  scared 

And  empty  faces  of  the  crowd, — 

I  wisht  you  could  a-been  allowed 

To  jest  look  on  and  see  it  all, — 

And  heerd  the  girls  and  women  bawl 

And  wring  their  hands ;  and  heerd  old  Jeff 

A-cussin'  as  he  swung  hisse'f 

Upon  his  hoss,  who  champed  his  bit 

As  though  old  Nick  had  holt  of  it : 

And  cheek  by  jowl  the  two  old  wrecks 

Rode  off  as  though  they  'd  break  their  necks. 


And  as  we  all  stood  starin'  out 
Into  the  night,  I  felt  the  brush 


114  SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STOJfV 

Of  some  one's  hand,  and  turned  about, 

And  heerd  a  voice  that  whispered,  "Hush!- 

TJiey  're  waitirf  in  the  kitchen,  and 

You  're  wanted.     Don V  you  understand?  " 

Well,  ef  my  memory  serves  me  now, 

I  think  I  winked. — Well,  anyhow, 

I  left  the  crowd  a-gawkin'  there, 

And  jest  slipped  off  around  to  where 

The  back-door  opened,  and  went  in, 

And  turned  and  shet  the  door  ag'in, 

And  mayby  locked 'it — could  n't  swear, — 

A  woman's  arms  around  me  makes 

Me  liable  to  make  mistakes. — 

I  read  a  marriage  license  nex', 

But  as  I  did  n't  have  my  specs 

I  jest  inferred  it  was  all  right, 

And  tied  the  knot  so  mortal-tight 

That  Patience  and  my  old  friend  John 

Was  safe  enough  from  that  time  on! 

Well  now  I  might  go  on  and  tell 
How  all  the  joke  at  last  leaked  out, 
And  how  the  youngsters  raised  the  yell 
And  rode  the  happy  groom  about 


SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY 

Upon  their  shoulders ;   how  the  bride 
Was  kissed  a  hunderd  times  beside 
The  one  /  give  her, —  tel  she  cried 
And  laughed  untel  she  like  to  died! 
I  might  go  on  and  tell  you  all 
About  the  supper — and  the  ball. — 
You  'd  ought  to  see  me  twist  my  heel 
Through  jest  one  old  Furginny  reel 
Afore  you  die!  er  tromp  the  strings 
Of  some  old  fiddle  tel  she  sings 
Some  old  cowtillion,  don't  you  know, 
That  putts  the  devil  in  yer  toe! 

We  kep'  the  dancin'  up  t&\four 
O'clock,  I  reckon  —  mayby  more. — 
We  hardly  heerd  the  thunders  roar, 
Er  thought  about  the  storm  that  blowed 
And  them  two  fellers  on  the  road! 
Tel  all  at  onc't  we  heerd  the  door 
Bu'st  open,  and  a  voice  that  swore, — 
And  old  Jeff  Thompson  tuck  the  floor. 
He  shuck  hisse'f  and  looked  around 
Like  some  old  dog  about  half-drown'd — 
His  hat,  I  reckon,  weighed  ten  pound 


n6  SQUIRE  HAWKINS'S  STORY 

To  say  the  least,  and  I  '11  say,  shore, 
His  overcoat  weighed  fifty  more — 
The  wettest  man  you  ever  saw, 
To  have  so  dry  a  son-in-law  ! 

He  sized  it  all ;   and  Patience  laid 

Her  hand  in  John's,  and  looked  afraid, 

And  waited.     And  a  stiller  set 

O'  folks,  I  know,  you  never  met 

In  any  court-room,  where  with  dread 

They  wait  to  hear  a  verdick  read. 

The  old  man  turned  his  eyes  on  me : 
"And  have  you  married  'em?  "  says  he. 
I  nodded  "  Yes."     "  Well,  that  '11  do," 
He  says,  "  and  now  we  're  th'ough  with  you,- 
You  jest  clear  out,  and  I  decide 
And  promise  to  be  satisfied!" 
He  had  n't  nothin'  more  to  say. 
I  saw,  of  course,  how  matters  lay, 
And  left.     But  as  I  rode  away 
I  heerd  the  roosters  crow  fer  day. 


DEAD    SELVES 

How  many  of  my  selves  are  dead? 
The  ghosts  of  many  haunt  me :   Lo, 
The  baby  in  the  tiny  bed 
With  rockers  on,  is  blanketed 
And  sleeping  in  the  long  ago  ; 
And  so  I  ask,  with  shaking  head, 
How  many  of  my  selves  are  dead? 

A  little  face  with  drowsy  eyes 

And  lisping  lips  comes  mistily 

From  out  the  faded  past,  and  tries 

The  prayers  a  mother  breathed  with  sighs 

Of  anxious  care  in  teaching  me ; 

But  face  and  form  and  prayers  have  fled — 

How  many  of  my  selves  are  dead? 

The  little  naked  feet  that  slipped 

In  truant  paths,  and  led  the  way 

Through  dead'ning  pasture-lands,  and  tripped 

O'er  tangled  poison-vines,  and  dipped 

In  streams  forbidden  —  where  are  they? 

In  vain  I  listen  for  their  tread  — 

How  many  of  my  selves  are  dead  ? 


n8  DEAD   SELVES 

The  awkward  boy  the  teacher  caught 

Inditing  letters  filled  with  love, 

Who  was  compelled,  for  all  he  fought, 

To  read  aloud  each  tender  thought 

Of  "  Sugar  Lump  "  and  "  Turtle  Dove." 

I  wonder  where  he  hides  his  head — 

How  many  of  my  selves  are  dead? 

The  earnest  features  of  a  youth 
With  manly  fringe  on  lip  and  chin, 
With  eager  tongue  to  tell  the  truth, 
To  offer  love  and  life,  forsooth, 
So  brave  was  he  to  woo  and  win ; 
A  prouder  man  was  never  wed — 
How  many  of  my  selves  are  dead? 

The  great,  strong  hands  so  all-inclined 

To  welcome  toil,  or  smooth  the  care 

From  mother-brows,  or  quick  to  find 

A  leisure-scrap  of  any  kind, 

To  toss  the  baby  in  the  air, 

Or  clap  at  babbling  things  it  said — 

How  many  of  my  selves  are  dead  ? 


DEAD   SELVES 

The  pact  of  brawn  and  scheming  brain 
Conspiring  in  the  plots  of  wealth, 
Still  delving,  till  the  lengthened  chain, 
Unwindlassed  in  the  mines  of  gain, 
Recoils  with  dregs  of  ruined  health 
And  pain  and  poverty  instead — 
How  many  of  my  selves  are  dead? 

The  faltering  step,  the  faded  hair  — 
Head,  heart  and  soul,  all  echoing 
With  maundering  fancies  that  declare 
That  life  and  love  were  never  there, 
Nor  ever  joy  in  anything, 
Nor  wounded  heart  that  ever  bled  — 
How  many  of  my  selves  are  dead? 

So  many  of  my  selves  are  dead, 
That,  bending  here  above  the  brink 
Of  my  last  grave,  with  dizzy  head, 
I  find  my  spirit  comforted, 
For  all  the  idle  things  I  think : 
It  can  but  be  a  peaceful  bed, 
Since  all  my  other  selves  are  dead. 


16 


119 


IN    SWIMMING-TIME 

CLOUDS  above,  as  white  as  wool, 

Drifting  over  skies  as  blue 
As  the  eyes  of  beautiful 

Children  when  they  smile  at  you ; 
Groves  of  maple,  elm,  and  beech, 

With  the  sunshine  sifted  through 
Branches,  mingling  each  with  each, 

Dim  with  shade  and  bright  with  dew ; 
Stripling  trees,  and  poplars  hoar, 
Hickory  and  sycamore, 
And  the  drowsy  dogwood  bowed 
Where  the  ripples  laugh  aloud, 
And  the  crooning  creek  is  stirred 

To  a  gaiety  that  now  • 
Mates  the  warble  of  the  bird 

Teetering  on  the  hazel-bough ; 
Grasses  long  and  fine  and  fair 
As  your  schoolboy  sweetheart's  hair, 


IN  SWIMMING-TIME  I2i 

Backward  reached  and  twirled  and  twined 
By  the  fingers  of  the  wind ; 
Vines  and  mosses,  interlinked 

Down  dark  aisles  and  deep  ravines, 
Where  the  stream  runs,  willow-brinked, 

Round  a  bend  where  some  one  leans 
Faint  and  vague  and  indistinct 

As  the  like  reflected  thing 

In  the  current  shimmering. 
Childish  voices  farther  on, 
Where  the  truant  stream  has  gone, 
Vex  the  echoes  of  the  wood 
Till  no  word  is  understood, 
Save  that  one  is  well  aware 
Happiness  is  hiding  there. 
There,  in  leafy  coverts,  nude 

Little  bodies  poise  and  leap, 
Spattering  the  solitude 
And  the  silence  everywhere — 

Mimic  monsters  of  the  deep! 
Wallowing  in  sandy  shoals — 

Plunging  headlong  out  of  sight ; 

And,  with  spurtings  of  delight, 
Clutching  hands,  and  slippery  soles, 


122  IN  SWIMMING-TIME 

Climbing  up  the  treacherous  steep 
Over  which  the  spring-board  spurns 
Each  again  as  he  returns. 

Ah!  the  glorious  carnival! 

Purple  lips  and  chattering  teeth — 
Eyes  that  burn  —  but,  in  beneath, 

Every  care  beyond  recall, 
Every  task  forgotten  quite  — 
And  again,  in  dreams  at  night, 

Dropping,  drifting  through  it  all! 


SONG   OF   THE   BULLET 

IT  whizzed  and  whistled  along  the  blurred 

And  red-blent  ranks ;  and  it  nicked  the  star 
Of  an  epaulette,  as  it  snarled  the  word  — 

War! 

On  it  sped — and  the  lifted  wrist 

Of  the  ensign-bearer  stung,  and  straight 
Dropped  at  his  side  as  the  word  was  hissed — 

Hate! 

On  went  the  missile — smoothed  the  blue 
Of  a  jaunty  cap  and  the  curls  thereof, 
Cooing,  soft  as  a  dove  might  do — 

Love! 

Sang! — sang  on! — sang  hate — sang  war — 

Sang  love,  in  sooth,  till  it  needs  must  cease, 
Hushed  in  the  heart  it  was  questing  for. — 

Peace ! 


123 


DEAD,   MY   LORDS 

DEAD,  my  lords  and  gentlemen!  — 
Stilled  the  tongue,  and  stayed  the  pen ; 
Cheek  unflushed  and  eye  unlit — 
Done  with  life,  and  glad  of  it. 

Curb  your  praises  now  as  then : 
Dead,  my  lords  and  gentlemen. — 
What  he  wrought  found  its  reward 
In  the  tolerance  of  the  Lord. 

Ye  who  fain  had  barred  his  path, 
Dread  ye  now  this  look  he  hath? — 
Dead,  my  lords  and  gentlemen  — 
Dare  ye  not  smile  back  again? 

Low  he  lies,  yet  high  and  great 
Looms  he,  lying  thus  in  state. — 
How  exalted  o'er  ye  when 
Dead,  my  lords  and  gentlemen! 


124 


HOME  AGAIN 

I  'M  bin  a-visitun  'bout  a  week 

To  my  little  Cousin's  at  Nameless  Creek ; 

An'  I  'm  got  the  hives  an'  a  new  straw  hat, 

An'  I  'm  come  back  home  where  my  beau  lives  at. 


A   SEA-SONG   FROM   THE   SHORE 

HAIL  !     Ho ! 

Sail !     Ho ! 
Ahoy !     Ahoy !     Ahoy ! 

Who  calls  to  me, 

So  far  at  sea? 
Only  a  little  boy! 

Sail !     Ho ! 

Hail !     Ho ! 
The  sailor  he  sails  the  sea: 

I  wish  he  would  capture  a  little   sea-horse 
And  send  him  home  to  me. 

I  wish,  as  he  sails 

Through  the  tropical  gales, 
He  would  catch  me  a  sea-bird,  too, 

With  its  silver  wings 

And  the  song  it  sings, 
And  its  breast  of  down  and  dew ! 
126 


A   SEA-SONG  FROM  THE  SHORE 

I  wish  he  would  catch  me  a 

Little  mermaid, 
Some  island  where  he  lands, 

With  her  dripping  curls, 

And  her  crown  of  pearls, 
And  the  looking-glass  in  her  hands! 

Hail !     Ho ! 

Sail !     Ho  ! 
Sail  far  o'er  the  fabulous  maini 

And  if  I  were  a  sailor, 

I  'd  sail  with  you, 
Though  I  never  sailed  back  again. 


127 


17 


A    BOY'S   MOTHER 

MY  Mother  she  's  so  good  to  me, 
Ef  I  wuz  good  as  I  could  be, 
I  could  n't  be  as*  good — no,  sir! — 
Can't  any  boy  be  good  as  her! 

She  loves  me  when  I  'm  glad  er  sad ; 
She  loves  me  when  I  'm  good  er  bad ; 
An', 'what  's  a  funniest  thing,  she  says 
She  loves  me  when  she  punishes. 
128 


A   BOY'S  MOTHER 

I  don't  like  her  to  punish  me. — 
That  don't  hurt, — but  it  hurts  to  see 
Her  cryin'. —  Nen  /  cry  ;   an'  nen 
We  both  cry  an'  be  good  again. 

She  loves  me  when  she  cuts  an'  sews 
My  little  cloak  an'  Sund'y  clothes ; 
An'  when  my  Pa  comes  home  to  tea, 
She  loves  him  most  as  much  as  me. 

She  laughs  an'  tells  him  all  I  said, 
An'  grabs  me  up  an'  pats  my  head ; 
An'  I  hug  her,  an'  hug  my  Pa, 
An'  love  him  purt'-nigh  much  as  Ma. 


129 


THE    RUNAWAY   BOY 


WUNST  I  sassed  my  Pa,  an'  he 
Won't  stand  that,  an'  punished  me,- 
Nen  when  he  wuz  gone  that  day, 
I  slipped  out  an'  runned  away. 

I  looked  all  my  copper-cents, 
An'  clumbed  over  our  back  fence 
In  the  jimpson- weeds  'at  growed 
Ever'where  all  down  the  road. 


THE  RUN  A  WA  Y  BO  Y 

Nen  I  got  out  there,  an'  nen 

I  runned  some — an'  runned  again, 

When  I  met  a  man  'at  led 

A  big  cow  'at  shocked  her  head. 

I  went  down  a  long,  long  lane 
Where  wuz  little  pigs  a-play'n' ; 
An'  a  grea'-big  pig  went  "Booh  /  " 
An'  jumped  up,  an'  skeered  me  too. 

Nen  I  scampered  past,  an'  they 
Was  somebody  hollered  "Hey  /  " 
An'  I  ist  looked  ever'where, 
An'  they  wuz  nobody  there. 

I  want  to,  but  I  'm  'fraid  to  try 
To  go  back.  .  .  .  An'  by-an'-by 
Somepin'  hurts  my  th'oat  inside — - 
An'  I  want  my  Ma — an'  cried. 

Nen  a  grea'-big  girl  come  through 
Where  's  a  gate,  an'  telled  me  who 
Am  I?  an'  ef  I  tell  where 
My  home  's  at  she  '11  show  me  there. 


THE  RUNAWAY  BOY 

But  I  could  n't  ist  but  tell 

What  's  my  name;  an'  she  says  "  well," 

An'  ist  tooked  me  up  an'  says 

She  know  where  I  live,  she  guess." 

Nen  she  telled  me  hug  wite  close 
Round  her  neck !  —  an'  off  she  goes 
Skippin'  up  the  street!      An'  nen 
Purty  soon  I  'm  home  again. 

An'  my  Ma,  when  she  kissed  me, 
Kissed  the  big  girl  too,  an'  she 
Kissed  me — ef  I  p'omise  shore 
I  won't  run  away  no  more! 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD 

'CAUSE  Herbert  Graham  's  a'  only  child- 

"Wuz  I  there,  Ma?" 
His  parunts  uz  got  him  purt'-nigh  spiled - 

"Wuz  I  there,  Ma?" 
Allus  ever' where  his  Ma  tells 
Where  she  's  bin  at,  little  Herbert  yells, 

"Wuz  I  there,  Ma?" 
An'  when  she  telled  us  wunst  when  she 
Wuz  ist  'bout  big  as  him  an'  me, 
W'y,  little  Herbert  he  says,  says-ee, 

"Wuz  I  there,  Ma?" 
Foolishest  young-un  you  ever  saw. — 
"  Wuz  I  there,  Ma  ?      Wuz  I  there,  Ma  ?  " 


'33 


THE    KIND    OLD    MAN 

THE  kind  old  man — the  mild  old  man — 

Who  smiled  on  the  boys  at  play, 
Dreaming,  perchance,  of  his  own  glad  youth 

When  he  was  as  blithe  and  gay! 

And  the  larger  urchin  tossed  the  ball, 

And  the  lesser  held  the  bat — 
Though  the  kindly  old  man's  eyes  were  blurred 

He  could  even  notice  that! 

But  suddenly  he  was  shocked  to  hear 

Words  that  I  dare  not  write, 
And  he  hastened,  in  his  kindly  way, 

To  curb  them  as  he  might! 


THE  KIND    OLD  MAN  ^ 

And  he  said,  "  Tut!    tut!    you  naughty  boy 

With  the  ball!    for  shame!  "  and  then, 
"  You  boy  with  the  bat,  whack  him  over  the  head 
If  he  calls  you  that  again ! " 

The  kind  old  man — the  mild  old  man  — 

Who  gazed  on  the  boys  at  play, 
Dreaming,  perchance,  of  his  own  wild  youth 

When  he  was  as  tough  as  they! 


JPP   -  s 

THE    BOY    LIVES    ON    OUR    FARM 

THE  Boy  lives  on  our  Farm,  he  's  not 

Af card  o'  horses  none ! 
An'  he  can  make  'em  lope,  er  trot, 

Er  rack,  er  pace,  er  run. 
Sometimes  he  drives  two  horses,  when 

He  comes  to  town  an'  brings 
A  wagonful  o'  'taters  nen, 

An'  roastin'-ears  an'  things. 
136 


THE  BOY  LIVES  ON  OUR  FARM 

Two  horses  is  "  a  team,"  he  says, — 

An'  when  you  drive  er  hitch, 
The  right  un  's  a  "  near-horse,"  I  guess, 

Er  "off" — I  don't  know  which.— 
The  Boy  lives  on  our  Farm,  he  told 

Me,  too,  'at  he  can  see, 
By  lookin'  at  their  teeth,  how  old 

A  horse  is,  to  a  T! 

I  'd  be  the  gladdest  boy  alive 

Ef  I  knowed  much  as  that, 
An'  could  stand  up  like  him  an'  drive, 

An'  ist  push  back  my  hat, 
Like  he  comes  skallyhootin'  through 

Our  alley,  with  one  arm 
A-wavin'  Fare-ye-well !  to  you — 

The  Boy  lives  on  our  Farm! 


137 


THE    DOODLE-BUGS'S   CHARM 

WHEN  Uncle  Sidney  he  comes  here  — 

An'  Fred  an'  me  an'  Min, — 
My  Ma  she  says  she  bet  you  yet 

Thereof  '11  tumble  in! 
Fer  Uncle  he  ist  romps  with  us : 

An'  wunst,  out  in  our  shed, 
He  telled  us  'bout  the  Doodle-Bugs, 

An'  what  they  '11  do-,  he  said, 
Ef  you  '11  ist  holler  "  Doodle-Bugs !  " — 

Out  by  our  garden-bed — 
'Doodle-Bugs!    Doodle-Bugs! 

Come  up  an'  git  some  bread ! " 
138 


THE   DOODLE-BUGS' S  CHARM 

Ain't  Uncle  Sidney  funny  man? — 

"He  's  childish  'most  as  me " — 
My  Ma  sometimes  she  tells  him  that — 

"He  ac's  so  foolishly!  " 
W'y,  wunst,  out  in  our  garden-path, 

Wite  by  the  pie-plant  bed, 
He  all  sprawled  out  there  in  the  dirt 

An'  ist  scrooched  down  his  head, 


An' "Doodle!    Doodle!    Doodle-Bugs!" 

My  Uncle  Sidney  said, — 
Doodle-Bugs!    Doodle-Bugs! 

Come  up  an'  git  some  bread!" 


I4o  THE  DOODLE-BUGS' S   CHARM 

An"  nen  he  showed  us  little  holes 

All  bored  there  in  the  ground, 
An'  little  weenty  heaps  o'  dust 

'At  's  piled  there  all  around : 
An'  Uncle  said,  when  he  's  like  us, 

Er  purt'-nigh  big  as  Fred, 
That  wuz  the  Doodle-Bugs's  Charm  — 

To  call  'em  up,  he  said : — 
"Doodle!    Doodle!    Doodle-Bugs!" 

An'  they  'd  poke  out  their  head — 
"Doodle-Bugs!    Doodle-Bugs! 

Come  up  an'  git  some  bread ! " 


LITTLE   COUSIN   JASPER 

LITTLE  Cousin  Jasper,  he 
Don't  live  in  this  town,  like  me, — 
He  lives  'way  to  Rensselaer, 
An'  ist  comes  to  visit  here. 

He  says  'at  our  courthouse-square 
Ain't  nigh  big  as  theirn  is  there !  — 
He  says  their  town  's  big  as  four 
Er  five  towns  like  this,  an'  more! 

He  says  ef  his  folks  moved  here 
He  'd  cry  to  leave  Rensselaer — 
'Cause  they  's  prairies  there,  an'  lakes, 
An'  wile-ducks  an'  rattlesnakes! 

Yes,  'n'  little  Jasper's  Pa 
Shoots  most  things  you  ever  saw !  — 
Wunst  he  shot  a  deer,  one  day, 
'At  swummed  off  an'  got  away. 


142  LITTLE  COUSIN  JASPER 

Little  Cousin  Jasper  went 
An'  camped  out  wunst  in  a  tent 
Wiv  his  Pa,  an'  helt  his  gun 
While  he  kilt  a  turrapun. 

An'  when  his  Ma  heerd  o'  that, 
An'  more  things  his  Pa  's  bin  at, 
She  says,  "  Yes,  'n'  he  '11  git  shot 
'Fore  he  's  man-grown,  like  as  not! " 

An'  they  's  mussrats  there,  an'  minks, 
An'  di-dippers,  an'  chee-winks, — 
Yes,  'n'  cal'mus-root  you  chew 
All  up  an'  't  'on't  pizen  you! 

An',  in  town,  's  a  flag-pole  there — 
Highest  one  'at  's  anywhere 
In  this  world! — wite  in  the  street 
Where  the  big  mass-meetin's  meet. 

Yes,  'n'  Jasper  he  says  they 
Got  a  brass  band  there,  an'  play 
On  it,  an'  march  up  an'  down 
An'  all  over  round  the  town ! 


LITTLE   CO  USIN  JA  SPER 

Wisht  our  town  ain't  like  it  is !  — 
Wisht  it  's  ist  as  big  as  his ! 
Wisht  'at  his  folks  they  'd  move  here, 
An'  we  'd  move  to  Rensselaer! 


143 


GIVE    ME   THE    BABY 

GIVE  me  the  baby  to  hold,  my  dear — 
To  hold  and  hug,  and  to  love  and  kiss. 

Ah!  he  will  come  to  me,  never  a  fear — 
Come  to  the  nest  of  a  breast  like  this, 

As  warm  for  him  as  his  face  with  cheer. 

Give  me  the  baby  to  hold,  my  dear! 

Trustfully  yield  him  to  my  caress. 
"Bother,"  you  say?    What!  "a  bother"  to  me?- 
To  fill  up  my  soul  with  such  happiness 

As  the  love  of  a  baby  that  laughs  to  be 
Snuggled  away  where  my  heart  can  hear! 
Give  me  the  baby  to  hold,  my  dear ! 


GIVE  ME    THE  BABY 


'45 


Ah,  but  his  hands  are  grimed,  you  say, 

And  would  soil  my  laces  and  clutch  my  hair. — 

Well,  what  would  pleasure  me  more,  I  pray, 

Than  the  touch  and  tug  of  the  wee  hands  there  ? — 

The  wee  hands  there,  and  the  warm  face  here — 

Give  me  the  baby  to  hold,  my  dear! 

Give  me  the  baby!      (Oh,  won't  you  see? 

.  .  .  Somewhere,  out  where  the  green  of  the  lawn 
Is  turning  to  gray,  and  the  maple-tree 

Is  weeping  its  leaves  of  gold  upon 
A  little  mound,  with  a  dead  rose  near.  .  .  .) 
Give  me  the  baby  to  hold,  my  dear! 


THE   BEE-BAG 

WHEN  I  was  ist  a  Brownie — a  weenty-teenty  Brownie — 

Long  afore  I  got  to  be  like  Childerns  is  to-day, — 
My  good  old  Brownie  granny  gimme  sweeter  thing  'an 

can'y — 

An'  'at 's  my  little  bee-bag  the  Fairies  stold  away! 
O  my  little  bee-bag — 
My  little  funny  bee-bag — 
My  little  honey  bee-bag 
The  Fairies  stold  away! 


THE  BEE-BAG  147 

One  time  when  I  bin  swung  in  wiv  annuver  Brownie 

young-un 
An'  lef  sleepin'  in  a  pea-pod  while  our  parunts  went 

to  play, 

I  waked  up  ist  a-cryin'  an'  a-sobbin'  an'  a-sighin' 
Fer  my  little  funny  bee-bag  the  Fairies  stold  away! 
O  my  little  bee-bag — 
My  little  funny  bee-bag — 
My  little  honey  bee-bag 
The  Fairies  stold  away! 

It 's  awful  much  bewilder'n',  but  'at 's  why  I  'm  a  Chil- 

dern, 
Ner  goin'  to  git  to  be  no  more  a  Brownie  sence  that 

day! 
My  parunts,  so  imprudent,  lef  me  sleepin'  when  they 

should  n't! 

An'  I  want  my  little  bee-bag  the  Fairies  stold  away ! 
O  my  little  bee-bag — 
My  little  funny  bee-bag — 
My  little  honey  bee-bag 
The  Fairies  stold  away! 


LITTLE    MARJORIE 

"  WHERE  is  little  Marjorie?  " 
There  's  the  robin  in  the  tree, 
With  his  gallant  call  once  more 
From  the  boughs  above  the  door! 
There  's  the  bluebird's  note,  and  there 
Are  spring-voices  everywhere 
Calling,  calling  ceaselessly — 

"  Where  is  little  Marjorie  ?  " 

And  her  old  playmate,  the  rain, 
Calling  at  the  window-pane 
In  soft  syllables  that  win 
Not  her  answer  from  within — 


LITTLE  MARJORIE  I49 

"Where  is  little  Marjorie?  " — 
Or  is  it  the  rain,  ah  me! 
Or  wild  gusts  of  tears  that  were 
Calling  us — not  calling  her! 

"  Where  is  little  Marjorie  ?  " 

Oh,  in  high  security 

She  is  hidden  from  the  reach 

Of  all  voices  that  beseech : 

She  is -where  no  troubled  word, 

Sob  or  sigh  is  ever  heard, 

Since  God  whispered  tenderly — 
"  Where  is  little  Marjorie?  " 


THE   TRULY    MARVELOUS 

GIUNTS  is  the  biggest  mens  they  air 

In  all  this  world  er  anywhere !  — 

An'  Tom  Thumb  he  's  the  most  little-est  man, 

'Cause  wunst  he  lived  in  a  oyshture-can ! 


150 


'MONGST   THE    HILLS    O'   SOMERSET 

'MONGST  the  Hills  o'  Somerset 

Wisht  I  was  a-roamin'  yet! 

My  feet  won't  get  usen  to 

These  low  lands  I  'm  trompin'  through. 

Wisht  I  could  go  back  there,  and 

Stroke  the  long  grass  with  my  hand, 

Kind  o'  like  my  sweetheart's  hair 

Smoothed  out  underneath  it  there! 

Wisht  I  could  set  eyes  once  more 

On  our  shadders,  on  before, 

Climbin',  in  the  airly  dawn, 

Up  the  slopes  'at  love  growed  on 

Natchurl  as  the  violet 

'Mongst  the  Hills  o'  Somerset! 

20  151 


152         'MONGST    THE  HILLS  0'    SOMERSET 

How  't  'u'd  rest  a  man  like  me 

Jest  fer  'bout  an  hour  to  be 

Up  there  where  the  morning  air 

Could  reach  out  and  ketch  me  there!  — 

Snatch  my  breath  away,  and  then 

Rensh  and  give  it  back  again 

Fresh  as  dew,  and  smellin'  of 

The  old  pinks  I  ust  to  love, 

And  a-flavor'n'  ever'  breeze 

With  mixt  hints  o'  mulberries 

And  May-apples,  from  the  thick 

Bottom-lands  along  the  crick 

Where  the  fish  bit,  dry  er  wet, 

'Mongst  the  Hills  o'  Somerset! 


Like  a  livin'  pictur'  things 

All  comes  back :   the  bluebird  swings 

In  the  maple,  tongue  and  bill 

Trillin'  glory  fit  to  kill! 

In  the  orchard,  jay  and  bee 

Ripens  the  first  pears  fer  me, 

And  the  "  Prince's  Harvest  "  they 

Tumble  to  me  where  I  lay 


AMONGST   THE  HILLS  0'    SOMERSET 

In  the  clover,  provin'  still 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will." 
Clean  fergot  is  time,  and  care, 
And  thick  hearin',  and  gray  hair — 
But  they  's  nothin'  I  ferget 
'Mongst  the  Hills  o'  Somerset! 

Middle-aged — to  be  edzact, 
Very  middle-aged,  in  fact, — 
Yet  a-thinkin'  back  to  then, 
I  'm  the  same  wild  boy  again! 
There  's  the  dear  old  home  once  more, 
And  there  's  Mother  at  the  door — 
Dead,  I  know,  fer  thirty  year', 
Yet  she  's  singin',  and  I  hear ; 
And  there  's  Jo,  and  Mary  Jane, 
And  Pap,  comin'  up  the  lane! 
Dusk  's  a-fallin' ;   and  the  dew, 
Tears  like,  it  's  a-fallin'  too  — 
Dreamin'  we  're  all  livin'  yet 
'Mongst  the  Hills  o'  Somerset! 


OLD   JOHN    HENRY 

OLD  John  's  jes'  made  o'  the  commonest  stuff- 
Old  John  Henry  — 

He  's  tough,  I  reckon, —  but  none  too  tough  — 
Too  tough  though  's  better  than  not  enough! 

Says  old  John  Henry. 

He  does  his  best,  and  when  his  best  's  bad, 
He  don't  fret  none,  ner  he  don't  git  sad  — 
He  simply  'lows  it  's  the  best  he  had : 
Old  John  Henry! 

His  doctern  's  jes'  o'  the  plainest  brand  — 

Old  John  Henry  — 
A  smilin'  face  and  a  hearty  hand 
'S  religen  'at  all  folks  understand, 

Says  old  John  Henry. 
154 


OLD  JOHN  HENRY 


155 


He  's  stove  up  some  with  the  rhumatiz, 
And  they  hain't  no  shine  on  them  shoes  o'  his, 
And  his  hair  hain't  cut  —  but  his  eye-teeth  is: 
Old  John  Henry! 

He  feeds  hisse'f  when  the  stock  's  all  fed  — 

Old  John  Henry  — 

And  sleeps  like  a  babe  when  he  goes  to  bed  — 
And  dreams  o'  heaven  and  home-made  bread, 

Says  old  John  Henry. 
He  hain't  refined  as  he  'd  ort  to  be 
To  fit  the  statutes  o'  poetry, 
Ner  his  clothes  don't  fit  him — but  he  fits  me  .• 

Old  John  Henry! 


MY   FIRST   SPECTACLES 

AT  first  I  laughed — for  it  was  quite 

An  oddity  to  see 
My  reflex  looking  from  the  glass 

Through  spectacles  at  me. 

But  as  I  gazed  I  really  found 
They  so  improved  my  sight 

That  many  wrinkles  in  my  face 
Were  mixed  with  my  delight ; 

And  many  streaks  of  silver,  too, 
Were  gleaming  in  my  hair, 

With  quite  a  hint  of  baldness  that 
I  never  dreamed  was  there. 

156 


MY  FIRST   SPECTACLES 

And  as  I  readjusted  them 
And  winked  in  slow  surprise, 

A  something  like  a  mist  had  come 
Between  them  and  my  eyes. 

And,  peering  vainly  still,  the  old 

Optician  said  to  me, 
The  while  he  took  them  from  my  nose 

And  wiped  them  hastily : 

Jest  now,  of  course,  your  eyes  is  apt 
To  water  some — but  where 

Is  any  man's  on  earth  that  won't 
The  first  he  has  to  wear?  " 


'57 


SCOTTY 

SCOTTY  's  dead. —  Of  course  he  is! 
Jes'  that  same  old  luck  of  his!  — 
Ever  sence  we  went  cahoots 
He  's  be'n  first,  you  bet  yer  boots ! 
When  our  schoolin'  first  begun, 
Got  two  whippin's  to  my  one : 
Stold  and  smoked  the  first  cigar : 
Stood  up  first  before  the  bar, 
Takin'  whisky-straight — and  me 
Wastin'  time  on  "blackberry"! 
Beat  me  in  the  Army,  too, 
And  clean  on  the  whole  way  through ! 
In  more  scrapes  around  the  camp, 
And  more  troubles,  on  the  tramp : 
Fought  and  fell  there  by  my  side 
With  more  bullets  in  his  hide, 
158 


SCOTT  Y 

And  more  glory  in  the  cause, — 
That  's  the  kind  o'  man  he  was! 
Luck  liked  Scotty  more  'n  me. — 
/  got  married :   Scotty,  he 
Never  even  would  apply 
Fer  the  pension-money  I 
Had  to  beg  of  "  Uncle  Sam  "— 
That 's  the  kind  o'  cuss  /  am !  — 
Scotty  allus  first  and  best — 
Me  the  last  and  ornriest! 
Yit  fer  all  that  's  said  and  done — 
All  the  battles  fought  and  won — 
We  hain't  prospered,  him  ner  me— 
Both  as  pore  as  pore  could  be, — 
Though  we  Ve  allus,  up  tel  now, 
Stuck  together  anyhow — 
Scotty  allus,  as  I  Ve  said, 
Luckiest — And  now  he  's  dead! 


MY   WHITE   BREAD 

DEM  good  old  days  done  past  and  gone 
In  old  Ca'line  wha  I  wuz  bo'n 
Wen  my  old  Misst'ess  she  fust  said, 
"Yo  's  a-eatin'  yo'  white  bread!" 
Oh,  dem  's  de  times  uts  done  gone  by 
Wen  de  nights  shine  cla,  an'  de  coon  clini'  high, 
An'  I  sop  my  soul  in  'possum-pie, 
Das  a-eatin'  my  white  bread! 

Its  dem  's  de  nights  ut  I  cross  my  legs 
An'  pat  de  flo'  ez  I  twis'  de  pegs 
O'  de  banjo  up  twil  de  gals  all  said, 
"  Yo  's  a-eatin'  yo'  white  bread ! " 

160 


MY    WHITE  BREAD  161 

Oh,  dem  's  de  times  ut  I  usen  fo'  to  blow 
On  de  long  reeds  cut  in  de  old  by-o, 
An'  de  frogs  jine  in  like  dey  glad  fo'  to  know 
I  's  a-eatin'  my  white  bread. 

An'  I  shet  my  eyes  fo'  to  conjuh  up 
Dem  good  ole  days  ut  fills  my  cup 
Wid  de  times  ut  fust  ole  Misst'ess  said, 

"  Yo  's  a-eatin'  yo'  white  bread!  " 
Oh,  dem  's  de  dreams  ut  I  fines  de  best ; 
An'  bald  an'  gray  ez  a  hornet's  nest, 
I  drap  my  head  on  de  good  Lord's  breast, 
Says  a-eatin'  my  white  bread! 


OLD  friends  allus  is  the  best, 
Halest-like  and  heartiest : 
Knowed  us  first,  and  don't  allow 
We  're  so  blame  much  better  now! 
They  was  standin'  at  the  bars 
When  we  grabbed  "  the  kivvered  kyars  " 
And  lit  out  fer  town,  to  make 
Money — and  that  old  mistake! 

We  thought  then  the  world  we  went 
Into  beat  "  The  Settlement," 
And  the  friends  'at  we  'd  make  there 
Would  beat  any  anywhere !  — 
And  they  do — fer  that  's  their  biz  : 
They  beat  all  the  friends  they  is — 
'Cept  the  raal  old  friends  like  you 
'At  staid  home,  like  /  'd  ort  to ! 
162 


BACK  FROM   TOWN 

W'y,  of  all  the  good  things  yit 
I  ain't  shet  of,  is  to  quit 
Business,  and  git  back  to  sheer 
These  old  comforts  waitin'  here — 
These  old  friends ;   and  these  old  hands 
'At  a  feller  understands ; 
These  old  winter  nights,  and  old 
Young-folks  chased  in  out  the  cold! 

Sing  "  Hard  Times  '11  come  ag'in 
No  More!"  and  neighbers  all  jine  in! 
Here  's  a  feller  come  from  town 
Wants  that-air  old  fiddle  down 
From  the  chimbly!  —  Git  the  floor 
Cleared  f er  one  cowtillion  more !  — 
It  's  poke  the  kitchen-fire,  says  he, 
And  shake  a  friendly  leg  with  me! 


A    MAN    BY   THE    NAME    OF    BOLUS 

A  MAN  by  the  name  of  Bolus — (all  'at  we  '11  ever  know 
Of  the  stranger's  name,  I  reckon  —  and  I  'm  kind  o' 

glad  it  's  so! )  — 
Got  off  here,  Christmas  morning,  looked  'round  the 

town,  and  then 
Kind  o'  sized  up  the  folks,  I  guess,  and — went  away 

again ! 

The  fac's  is,  this  man  Bolus  got  "run  in,"  Christmas- 
day; 

The  town  turned  out  to  see  it,  and  cheered,  and  blocked 
the  way ; 

And  they  dragged  him  'fore  the  Mayor — fer  he  could  n't 
er  would  n't  walk — 

And  socked  him  down  fer  trial  —  though  he  could  n't 
er  would  n't  talk ! 

164 


A    MAN  BY   THE  NAME    OF  BOLUS        165 

Drunk?    They  was  no  doubt  of  it!  —  W'y,  the  marshal 

of  the  town 

Laughed  and  testified  'at  he  fell  ///-stairs  'stid  o'  down! 
This   man   by  the    name  of    Bolus? — W'y,   he    even 

drapped  his  jaw 
And  snored  on  through  his  "hearin"' — drunk  as  you 

ever  saw!  . 

One  feller  spit  in  his  boot-leg,  and  another  'n'  drapped 

a  small 
Little  chunk  o'  ice  down  his  collar, — but  he  did  n't 

wake  at  all! 
And  they  all  nearly  split  when  his  Honor  said,  in  one 

of  his  witty  ways, 
To  "chalk  it  down  fer  him,  'Called  away — be  back 

in  thirty  days ! '  " 

That  's  where  this  man  named  Bolus  slid,  kind  o'  like 

in  a  fit, 
Flat  on  the  floor;   and — drat  my  ears!     I  hear  'em 

a-laughin'  yit! 
Somebody  fetched   Doc    Sifers   from  jest   acrost  the 

hall  — 
And  all  Doc  said  was,  "  Morphine!     We  're  too  late! " 

and  that  's  all! 


1 66         A    MAN  BY   THE  NAME   OF  BOLUS 

That 's  how  they  found  his  name  out — piece  of  a  letter 

'at  read : 
"  Your  wife  has  lost  her  reason,  and  little   Nathan  's 

dead — 

Come  ef  you  kin, — fergive  her — but,  Bolus,  as  fer  me, 
This  hour  I  send  a  bullet  through  where  my  heart  ort 

to  be!" 

Man  by  the  name  of  Bolus! — As  his  revilers  broke 
Fer  the  open  air,  'peared-like,  to  me,  I  heerd  a  voice 

'at  spoke  — 
Man  by  the  name  of  Bolus!  git  up  from   where  you 

lay  — 
Git  up  and  smile  white  at  'em,  with  your  hands  crossed 

thataway  ! 


OLD    CHUMS  . 

"!F  I  die  first,"  my  old  chum  paused  to  say, 
"  Mind!    not  a  whimper  of  regret ; — instead, 
Laugh  and  be  glad,  as  I  shall. —  Being  dead, 
I  shall  not  lodge  so  very  far  away 
But  that  our  mirth  shall  mingle. —  So,  the  day 
The  word  comes,  joy  with  me."     "  I  '11  try,"  I  said, 
Though,  even  speaking,  sighed  and  shook  my  head 
And  turned,  with  misted  eyes.     His  roundelay 
Rang  gaily  on  the  stair ;   and  then  the  door 
Opened  and — closed.  .  .  .  Yet  something  of  the 

clear, 

Hale  hope,  and  force  of  wholesome  faith  he  had 
Abided  with  me — strengthened  more  and  more. — 
Then — then  they  brought  his  broken  body  here: 
And  I  laughed — whisperingly — and  we  were  glad. 


22  167 


WHAT   A    DEAD    MAN    SAID 

HEAR  what  a  dead  man  said  to  me. 
His  lips  moved  not,  and  the  eyelids  lay 
Shut  as  the  leaves  of  a  white  rose  may 
Ere  the  wan  bud  blooms  out  perfectly ; 
And  the  lifeless  hands  they  were  stiffly  crossed 
As  they  always  cross  them  over  the  breast 
When  the  soul  goes  nude  and  the  corpse  is  dressed  ; 
And  over  the  form,  in  its  long  sleep  lost, 
From  forehead  down  to  the  pointed  feet 
That  peaked  the  foot  of  the  winding-sheet, 
Pallid  patience  and  perfect  rest. — 
It  was  the  voice  of  a  dream,  may  be, 
But  it  seemed  that  the  dead  man  said  to  me : 
"  I,  indeed,  am  the  man  that  died 
Yesternight — and  you  weep  for  this  ; 

168 


But,  lo,  I  am  with  you,  side  by  side, 

As  we  have  walked  when  the  summer  sun 

Made  the  smiles  of  our  faces  one, 

And  touched  our  lips  with  the  same  warm  kiss. 

Do  not  doubt  that  I  tell  you  true — 

I  am  the  man  you  once  called  friend, 

And  caught  my  hand  when  I  came  to  you, 

And  loosed  it  only  because  the  end 

Of  the  path  I  walked  of  a  sudden  stopped — 

And  a  dead  man's  hand  must  needs  be  dropped 

And  I  —  though  it 's  strange  to  think  so  now — 

/  have  wept,  as  you  weep  for  me, 

And  pressed  hot  palms  to  my  aching  brow 

And  moaned  through  the  long  night  ceaselessly. 

Yet  have  I  lived  to  forget  my  pain, 

As  you  will  live  to  be  glad  again — 

Though  never  so  glad  as  this  hour  am  I, 

Tasting  a  rapture  of  delight 

Vast  as  the  heavens  are  infinite, 

And  dear  as  the  hour  I  came  to  die. 

Living  and  loving,  I  dreamed  my  cup 

Brimmed  sometimes,  and  with  marvelings 

I  have  lifted  and  tipped  it  up 

And  drank  to  the  dregs  of  all  sweet  things. 


170 


WHA  T  A   DEAD  MAN  SAID 

Living,  't  was  but  a  dream  of  bliss — 

Now  I  realize  all  it  is ; 

And  now  my  only  shadow  of  grief 

Is  that  I  may  not  give  relief 

Unto  those  living  and  dreaming  on, 

And  woo  them  graveward,  as  I  have  gone, 

And  show  death's  loveliness, — for  they 

Shudder  and  shrink  as  they  walk  this  way, 

Never  dreaming  that  all  they  dread 

Is  their  purest  delight  when  dead." 

Thus  it  was,  or  it  seemed  to  be, 

That  the  voice  of  the  dead  man  spoke  to  me. 


CUORED    O'   SKEERIN' 

'LiSH,  you  rickollect  that-air 
Dad-burn  skittish  old  bay  mare 
Was  no  livin'  with !  — 'at  skeerd 
'T  ever'thing  she  seed  er  heerd !  — 
Th'owed  'Ves'  Anders,  and  th'owed  Pap, 
First  he  straddled  her  —  k-slap  ! — 
And  Izory — well!  —  th'owed  her 
Hain't  no  tellin'  jest  how  fur !  — 
Broke  her  collar-bone  —  and  might 
Jest  'a'  kilt  the  gyrl  outright! 

Course  I  'd  heerd  'em  make  their  boast 
She  th'ow  any  feller,  'most, 
Ever  topped  her !    S'  I,  "  I  know 
One  man  'at  she  '11  never  th'ow ! " 
171 


172 


CUORED   O'   SKEERIN* 

So  I  rid  her  in  to  mill, 

And,  jest  comin'  round  the  hill, 

Met  a  traction-engine  / —  Ort 

Jest  'a'  heerd  that  old  mare  snort, 

And  lay  back  her  yeers,  and  see 

Her  a-tryin'  to  th'ow  me! 

Course  I  never  said  a  word, 

But  thinks  I,  "My  ladybird, 

You  '11  git  cuored,  right  here  and  now, 

Of  yer  dy-does  anyhow !  " 

So  I  stuck  her  —  tel  she  'd  jest 

Done  her  very  level  best; 

Then  I  slides  off — strips  the  lines 

Over  her  fool-head,  and  finds 

Me  a  little  saplin'-gad, 

'Side  the  road :  —  And  there  we  had 

Our  own  fun! — jest  wore  her  out! 

Mounted  her,  and  faced  about, 

And  jest  made  her  nose  that-air 

Little  traction-engine  there! 


YOUR   VIOLIN 

YOUR  violin!     Ah  me! 

'T  was  fashioned  o'er  the  sea, 

In  storied  Italy — 

What  matter  where? 
It  is  its  voice  that  sways 
And  thrills  me  as  it  plays 
The  airs  of  other  days — 

The  days  that  were! 

Then  let  your  magic  bow 
Glide  lightly  to  and  fro. — 
I  close  my  eyes,  and  so, 

In  vast  content, 
I  kiss  my  hand  to  you, 
And  to  the  tunes  we  knew 
Of  old,  as  well  as  to 

Your  instrument! 

Poured  out  of  some  dim  dream 
Of  lulling  sounds  that  seem 


YOUR    VIOLIN 

Like  ripples  of  a  stream 

Twanged  lightly  by 
The  slender,  tender  hands 
Of  weeping- willow  wands 
That  droop  where  gleaming  sands 

And  pebbles  lie. 

A  melody  that  swoons 
In  all  the  truant  tunes 
Long  listless  afternoons 

Lure  from  the  breeze, 
When  woodland  boughs  are  stirred, 
And  moaning  doves  are  heard, 
And  laughter  afterward 

Beneath  the  trees. 

Through  all  the  chorusing, 
I  hear  on  leaves  of  spring 
The  drip  and  pattering 

Of  April  skies, 
With  echoes  faint  and  sweet 
As  baby-angel  feet 
Might  wake  along  a  street 

Of  Paradise. 


TO   A   SKULL 

TURN  your  face  this  way ; 

I  'm  not  weary  of  it — 
Every  hour  of  every  day 

More  and  more  I  love  it — 
Grinning  in  that  jolly  guise 
Of  bare  bones  and  empty  eyes! 

Was  this  hollow  dome, 
Where  I  tap  my  finger, 

Once  the  spirit's  narrow  home- 
Where  you  loved  to  linger, 

Hiding,  as  to-day  are  we, 

From  the  self-same  destiny? 

O'er  and  o'er  again 

Have  I  put  the  query — 

Was  existence  so  in  vain 
That  you  look  so  cheery? — 
175 


TO  A    SKULL 

Death  of  such  a  benefit 
That  you  smile,  possessing  it  ? 

Did  your  throbbing  brow 

Tire  of  all  the  flutter 
Of  such  fancyings  as  now 

You,  at  last,  may  utter 
In  that  grin  so  grimly  bland 
Only  death  can  understand? 

Has  the  shallow  glee 

Of  old  dreams  of  pleasure 

Left  you  ever  wholly  free 
To  float  out,  at  leisure, 

O'er  the  shoreless,  trackless  trance 

Of  unsounded  circumstance  ? 

Only  this  I  read 

In  your  changeless  features, — 
You,  at  least,  have  gained  a  meed 

Held  from  living  creatures : 
You  have  naught  to  ask. — Beside, 
You  do  grin  so  satisfied! 


A   VISION    OF   SUMMER 

'T  WAS  a  marvelous  vision  of  Summer. — 

That  morning  the  dawn  was  late, 
And  came,  like  a  long  dream-ridden  guest, 

Through  the  gold  of  the  Eastern  gate. 

Languid  it  came,  and  halting, 

As  one  that  yawned,  half  roused, 
With  lifted  arms  and  indolent  lids 

And  eyes  that  drowsed  and  drowsed. 

A  glimmering  haze  hung  over 

The  face  of  the  smiling  air ; 
And  the  green  of  the  trees  and  the  blue  of  the  leas 

And  the  skies  gleamed  everywhere. 

And  the  dewdrops'  dazzling  jewels, 

In  garlands  and  diadems, 
Lightened  and  twinkled  and  glanced  and  shot 

As  the  glints  of  a  thousand  gems : 


178  A    VISION  OF  SUMMER 

Emeralds  of  dew  on  the  grasses ; 

The  rose  with  rubies  set ; 
On  the  lily,  diamonds ;  and  amethysts 

Pale  on  the  violet. 

And  there  were  the  pinks  of  the  fuchsias, 
And  the  peony's  crimson  hue, 

The  lavender  of  the  hollyhocks, 
And  the  morning-glory's  blue : 

The  purple  of  the  pansy  bloom, 

And  the  passionate  flush  of  the  face 

Of  the  velvet-rose ;  and  the  thick  perfume 
Of  the  locust  every  place. 

The  air  and  the  sun  and  the  shadows 
Were  wedded  and  made  as  one ; 

And  the  winds  ran  over  the  meadows 
As  little  children  run : 

And  the  winds  poured  over  the  meadows 
And  along  the  willowy  way 

The  river  ran,  with  its  ripples  shod 
With  the  sunshine  of  the  day : 


A    VISION  OF  SUMMER  i-jg 

O  the  winds  flowed  over  the  meadows 

In  a  tide  of  eddies  and  calms, 
And  the  bared  brow  felt  the  touch  of  it 

As  a  sweetheart's  tender  palms. 

And  the  lark  went  palpitating 

Up  through  the  glorious  skies, 
His  song  spilled  down  from  the  blue  profound 

As  a  song  from  Paradise. 

And  here  was  the  loitering  current — 

Stayed  by  a  drift  of  sedge 
And  sodden  logs — scummed  thick  with  the  gold 

Of  the  pollen  from  edge  to  edge. 

The  catbird  piped  in  the  hazel, 

And  the  harsh  kingfisher  screamed, 

And  the  crane,  in  amber  and  oozy  swirls, 
Dozed  in  the  reeds  and  dreamed. 

And  in  through  the  tumbled  driftage 

And  the  tangled  roots  below, 
The  waters  warbled  and  gurgled  and  lisped 

Like  the  lips  of  long  ago. 


i8o  A    VISION  OF  SUMMER 

And  the  senses  caught,  through  the  music, 

Twinkles  of  dabbling  feet, 
And  glimpses  of  faces  in  coverts  green, 

And  voices  faint  and  sweet. 

And  back  from  the  lands  enchanted 
Where  my  earliest  mirth  was  born, 

The  trill  of  a  laugh  was  blown  to  me 
Like  the  blare  of  an  elfin  horn. 

Again  I  romped  through  the  clover; 

And  again  I  lay  supine 
On  grassy  swards,  where  the  skies,  like  eyes. 

Looked  lovingly  back  in  mine. 

And  over  my  vision  floated 

Misty  illusive  things — 
Trailing  strands  of  the  gossamer 

On  heavenward  wanderings : 

Figures  that  veered  and  wavered, 

Luring  the  sight,  and  then 
Glancing  away  into  nothingness, 

And  blinked  into  shape  again. 


A    VISION  OF  SUMMER  :8i 

From  out  far  depths  of  the  forest, 

Ineffably  sad  and  lorn, 
Like  the  yearning  cry  of  a  long-lost  love, 

The  moan  of  the  dove  was  borne. 

And  through  lush  glooms  of  the  thicket 

The  flash  of  the  redbird's  wings 
On  branches  of  star-white  blooms  that  shook 

And  thrilled  with  its  twitterings. 

Through  mossy  and  viny  vistas, 

Soaked  ever  with  deepest  shade, 
Dimly  the  dull  owl  stared  and  stared 

From  his  bosky  ambuscade. 

And  up  through  the  rifted  tree-tops 
That  signaled  the  wayward  breeze, 

I  saw  the  hulk  of  the  hawk  becalmed 
Far  out  on  the  azure  seas. 

Then  sudden  an  awe  fell  on  me, 

As  the  hush  of  the  golden  day 
Rounded  to  noon,  as  a  May  to  June 

That  a  lover  has  dreamed  away. 


1 82  A    VISION  OF  SUMMER 

And  I  heard,  in  the  breathless  silence, 
And  the  full,  glad  light  of  the  sun, 

The  tinkle  and  drip  of  a  timorous  shower — 
Ceasing  as  it  begun. 

And  my  thoughts,  like  the  leaves  and  grasses 

In  a  rapture  of  joy  and  pain, 
Seemed  fondled  and  petted  and  beat  upon 

With  a  tremulous  patter  of  rain. 


BEREAVED 

LET  me  come  in  where  you  sit  weeping, — aye, 
Let  me,  who  have  not  any  child  to  die, 
Weep  with  you  for  the  little  one  whose  love 
I  have  known  nothing  of. 

The  little  arms  that  slowly,  slowly  loosed 
Their  pressure  round  your  neck ;  the  hands  you  used 
To  kiss. — Such  arms  —  such  hands  I  never  knew. 
May  I  not  weep  with  you? 

Fain  would  I  be  of  service — say  some  thing, 
Between  the  tears,  that  would  be  comforting, — 
But  ah!  so  sadder  than  yourselves  am  I, 
Who  have  no  child  to  die. 


24  183 


A   SONG   OF   THE    CRUISE 

O  THE  sun  and  the  rain,  and  the  rain  and  the  sun! 
There  '11  be  sunshine  again  when  the  tempest  is  done ; 
And  the  storm  will  beat  back  when  the  shining  is  past — 
But  in  some  happy  haven  we  '11  anchor  at  last. 

Then  murmur  no  more, 

In  lull  or  in  roar, 
But  smile  and  be  brave  till  the  voyage  is  o'er. 

O  the  rain  and  the  sun,  and  the  sun  and  the  rain! 
When  the  tempest  is  done,  then  the  sunshine  again ; 
And  in  rapture  we  '11  ride  through  the  stormiest  gales, 
For  God's  hand  's  on  the  helm  and  His  breath  in  the 

sails. 

Then  murmur  no  more, 

In  lull  or  in  roar, 
But  smile  and  be  brave  till  the  voyage  is  o'er. 


THE    DEAD    WIFE 

ALWAYS  I  see  her  in  a  saintly  guise 

Of  lilied  raiment,  white  as  her  own  brow 
When  first  I  kissed  the  teardrops  to  the  eyes 
That  smile  forever  now. 

Those  gentle  eyes!      They  seem  the  same  to  me, 
As,  looking  through  the  warm  dews  of  mine  own, 
I  see  them  gazing  downward  patiently 
Where,  lost  and  all  alone 

In  the  great  emptiness  of  night,  I  bow 

And  sob  aloud  for  one  returning  touch 
Of  the  dear  hands  that,  Heaven  having  now, 
I  need  so  much — so  much! 


185 


SOMEDAY 

SOMEDAY: — So  many  tearful  eyes 
Are  watching  for  thy  dawning  light ; 

So  many  faces  toward  the  skies 
Are  weary  of  the  night! 

So  many  failing  prayers  that  reel 

And  stagger  upward  through  the  storm, 

And  yearning  hands  that  reach  and  feel 
No  pressure  true  and  warm. 

So  many  hearts  whose  crimson  wine 

Is  wasted  to  a  purple  stain 
And  blurred  and  streaked  with  drops  of  brine 

Upon  the  lips  of  Pain. 

Oh,  come  to  them!  —  these  weary  ones! 

Or  if  thou  still  must  bide  a  while, 
Make  stronger  yet  the  hope  that  runs 

Before  thy  coming  smile: 

And  haste  and  find  them  where  they  wait — 
Let  summer- winds  blow  down  that  way, 

And  all  they  long  for,  soon  or  late, 
Bring  round  to  them,  Someday. 


CLOSE    THE    BOOK 

CLOSE  the  book,  and  leave  the  tale 
All  unfinished.     It  is  best : 

Brighter  fancy  will  not  fail 
To  relate  the  rest. 

We  have  read  it  on  and  on, 
Till  each  character,  in  sooth, 

By  the  master-touches  drawn, 
Is  a  living  truth. 

Leave  it  so,  and  let  us  sit, 

With  the  volume  laid  away — 

Cut  no  other  leaf  of  it, 
But  as  Fancy  may. — 

Then  the  friends  that  we  have  met 
In  its  pages  will  endure, 

And  the  villain,  even  yet, 
May  be  white  and  pure. 

Close  the  book,  and  leave  the  tale 
All  unfinished.     It  is  best : 

Brighter  fancy  will  not  fail 
To  relate  the  rest. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


DEC1  . 

I  SEP3019K 

pb*wi 

gLJAN 


'P-URC 


,, 


41975 


Form  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)  444 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


at 


A  A      000118238    5 


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